


A Drizzle of Drabbles

by starrynightshade



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon? We don't know her., F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Look at all the characters who are actually doing fine and living their best lives., Married Life, Minor Bran Stark/Meera Reed, Minor Character Death, Minor Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnancy, Reunions, Tumblr Prompt, Weddings, mixed show and book canon, sansan if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2019-11-07 00:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17950394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrynightshade/pseuds/starrynightshade
Summary: A collection of drabbles based on single word prompts. Originally posted to tumblr, but compiled here for ease of access. Chapters with * contain smut and are rated E. Please read at your own discretion.





	1. Butterflies

Butterflies in your stomach. That was the phrase all the idiot girls she’d known in childhood had used. “When I’m looking at him, it’s like I have butterflies in my stomach,” they would say as they daydreamed about one foolish boy or another. Arya had always found the phrase disgusting.

Now she understood it.

“Arry.” He said it so low she almost didn’t hear it, as if he hadn’t realized he was speaking.

Time stood still. The constant movement in the courtyard ceased. Everything that wasn’t the two of them momentarily stopped existing.

He was dead. She had spent so long thinking he was dead. And yet, there he stood in mountain of furs, cheeks reddened by the howling wind. He was older, taller, different in a thousand miniscule ways, but still himself. He was more handsome, she realized.

Or maybe she was just less blind to it.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” she managed. He had made it to her home, just as she’d planned a lifetime ago. It didn’t matter that it had taken so damn long, or that he had come to serve under the wrong brother, or that he was seeing her beloved home in such a sorry state. All that mattered was that he was there, alive.

And the sight of him made her feel as though there were butterflies in her stomach.

They both stood there in the middle of the courtyard, each of them too scared to move and break whatever spell hung in the air between them.

It was Gendry who summoned his courage first. “I’m sorry I’m late, m’lady.”

The butterflies started beating their wings even faster and a grin lit Arya’s face up. “Stupid Bull…” she muttered before launching herself at him like a wolf pouncing on its prey.

She was grateful for the inordinate amount of clothing he wore when she realized that it was the only that had prevented her from crashing headlong into a wall of solid muscle. _He’s strong_ , she remembered, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest. _Stronger than before._

They both were.

One of his arms held her tightly around the shoulders while he stroked her hair with the other hand. She had a thousand questions for him bubbling up in her head, and she was sure he had even more, but for now all she wanted was this moment. She wanted to feel his hand in her hair and his strong chest against her cheek for just a second longer.

The real world would come crashing back to them in a moment, but for now she wanted to enjoy the butterflies, lest they be the last ones she ever encountered in the realm of the living.


	2. Soft

Arya couldn’t sleep. The featherbed beneath her was too fluffy, the furs piled on top of her were too plush. Everything was too soft.

 

What a ridiculous predicament to be in.

 

Giving up on sleep, she shoved the covers aside and stood up, familiarizing her feet with the cold stone floor. _That’s better_ , she thought to herself. She slipped on the loose dress Sansa had made for her, letting the garment slip over her shift. Arya didn’t know if she should be offended or grateful that her sister had made her such a simple garment – it had no laces or clasps, similar to something a child would wear. Still, it allowed her to dress herself quickly and (if she was honest) didn’t look terrible on her.

 

She pulled on her boots and a heavy cloak before slipping into the corridor. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she needed to move. She decided a walk along the battlements would do her good.

 

If the posted guards were surprised to see her stalking the perimeter of the castle in the middle of the night, they didn’t show it. After everything they’d heard, it was hard to imagine much that would surprise them. She paused a long moment at her favorite spot, from which she could see the full moon reflected in the hot springs in the Godswood. Most of the trees were bare of leaves, their naked branches spreading like veins against the sky. The image unsettled her.

 

Turning away, she caught sight of the forge. Despite the hour, smoke poured from the chimney in a steady stream. _What is he doing up at this hour?_ Pulling her hood up, she changed course.

 

She hadn’t meant to sneak up on him, but she was used to making no noise and he was making an awful lot of it when she pulled the door open and slipped inside. The gust of cold air made him turn his head just in time to see her silhouette doused in moonlight.

 

He nearly dropped the sword he was holding.

 

“Sorry,” she chuckled, pulling her hood back so the fire could illuminate her face properly.

 

“Gods, Arya. I thought the Stranger had finally come for me.”

 

“Not if have any say in it.” She realized her words too late, hoping he wouldn’t see the furious blush that flooded her cheeks. “What are you doing up so late?”

 

He turned back to the sword he’d been working on, examining his progress with a discerning eye. “I could ask you the same.”

 

“I couldn’t sleep.”

 

That piqued his interest. “Why not?”

 

“It’s stupid,” she insisted. He motioned for her to go on though, so she unfastened her cloak and hung it by the door, perching on one of the work benches behind him. “It’s my bed. I can’t get comfortable. Everything is too…”

 

“Soft,” he finished for her. “I know the feeling.”  
  
She let out a short breath. “I’d go sleep on the ground in the Godswood if I didn’t think I’d freeze to death.”

 

“The last thing we need is for you to join the ranks of the dead. We’d be doomed,” he said, setting the sword down and turning to look at her. Whatever he had been about to say never made it past his lips. Instead he paused, taking her in from head to toe. “What are you wearing?”

 

Arya didn’t know why, but the question made her defensive. “It’s a dress, you idiot. Sansa made it for me.”

 

Gendry balked. “It’s…nice.”

 

“It’s easier to get on than my breeches,” she said. “And I _am_ a woman, in case you forgot. I’m allowed to wear a dress every once in a while. I can still kill a man while wearing a gown.”

 

He seemed to be struggling to pull his eyes away from the garment in question. _I didn’t realize he’d be so damn shocked_ , she thought bitterly. _It’s not like I’ve got on a tiara._

 

“Trust me Arya, nobody’s forgotten that you’re a woman,” he grumbled, peeling his eyes away and returning his attention to the sword on his work bench. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She had meant for it to be teasing, but the question came out biting instead.

 

“Gods, Arya…do we have to do this now?”

 

She didn’t know what _this_ was, but she very much wanted to find out. “Yes, Gendry, we do. What did you mean?”

 

“I mean you’re damn distracting! I spend most of the time I’m with you wishing you wore dresses so I could stop thinking terrible thoughts about you, and then you show up here in a dress and it’s no better!”

 

“Well I’m sorry if I’m not quite ladylike enough for you, _your lordship_ ,” she spat, blood starting to boil. “I’ll be sure to put on a finer gown next time we’re sparring. Perhaps it will help you think less _terribly_ of me.”

 

“Gods, Arya! Are you even listening to me? I’m the terrible one, not you.” His voice had cracked on the last word and she realized he wasn’t mad at her, but himself. “I shouldn’t think about you the way I do. You’re my friend, and a lady. I shouldn’t be thinking about… what I do.”

 

“You think about me?”

 

“All the damn time,” he breathed, running his hands over his short hair. She was filled with the sudden impulse to do the same. It looked soft…

 

She closed her eyes, knowing she wouldn’t be able to gather her thoughts with his bright blue eyes on her. “What… do you think about?”

 

“Kissing you, for one thing…”

 

Her eyes flew open, immediately finding his. “Do it.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“Kiss me.” Even as she said it her heart strained against the confines of her ribs. This could change everything between them, and yet her better sense couldn’t talk her out of it. “I want you to.”

 

There was a moment of stillness, in which she realized he was going to turn her down. Her heart barely had time to sink before he crossed the space between them in two strides and granted her wish. It was everything and nothing like she’d imagined.

 

His lips were firm against hers, taking and giving in equal measure as his big hands came to cradle the sides of her face. It was desperate and reverent all at once, as though he were begging the blessings of the gods with his lips on hers.

 

She snaked her arms around his neck, desperately trying to bring him closer in any way she could. Their chests collided and she remembered that there was nothing soft about him there. Absentmindedly, she let one hand drift up to the black fuzz at the back of his neck and ran her fingers through it.

 

It wasn’t as prickly as she’d expected, and he moaned a little bit into her mouth when she tried to tug at it.

 

“Problem?” She was teasing, but her labored breathing made it sound far less cocky than normal.

 

He pressed a kiss to her throat, right where she would place her dagger to kill someone, and her breath hitched. “Just wondering why you felt the need to rip my hair out,” he mumbled against her skin. His kisses started traveling lower and lower, towards the divot between her collarbones.

 

Arya felt like she was floating, relying purely on instinct as all sense took its leave. “You should grow it out again,” she whispered, gasping when he tugged her braid in retaliation. “It’s soft.”

 

He chuckled against the base of her throat and what little sense she had left escaped her. “As m’lady wishes.”


	3. Book

Sansa would have thrown a fit if she had seen the way Arya was sitting. Luckily for the lady of Storm’s End, her sister was back in Winterfell and had no chance to catch her sprawled out across the arm chair in front of the fire. Much as she missed her home, she had to admit that Storm’s End had its merits – not the least of which was the lovely solar in the lord’s chambers.

 

The raging summer storms for which the Stormlands were infamous had come and gone, leaving Arya awestruck by the streaks of lightning and howling winds. Now an autumn drizzle streaked the windows that overlooked the stunning cliffs and sent water tumbling down the mossy rocks. The sound of rain had become a comfort, although perhaps that was because she had spent so many rainy nights in a breathless tangle with her husband.

 

She grinned to herself, turning the page of the book in her lap and tossing her braid over her shoulder. Her hair had grown past her shoulders and though she was tempted to cut it, Gendry seemed to love running his fingers through it. Besides, braiding it in the Northern fashion made her feel a little less homesick.

 

She idly wondered what Sansa would say about that. Probably that she ought to wear it in one of the ridiculous piles that the other ladies did south of the Neck. She could practically hear her sister’s voice telling her that her new role would be easier if she looked the part.

 

 _I wonder what Sansa would have to say about this_ , she thought to herself as she traced her finger along the page. Before she could ponder it any further the door burst open and Gendry came rushing in.

 

“There you are! Are you alright?” It took him only a few strides to cross the solar and crouch in front of her. “Brienne said you were ill.”

 

Arya marked her page, shutting her book as she rolled her eyes. “Brienne exaggerated.”

 

“Arya…” His tone was warning, but there was no real force behind it.

 

She didn’t want him to worry, especially if there turned out to be no cause for concern. Still, they had sworn never to lie to one another. Perhaps a half-truth would satisfy him?

 

“I was a bit dizzy,” she admitted. “I should have eaten before training. It was my own silly mistake.” She left out the reason _why_ she hadn’t eaten. The mere thought of food had been enough to churn her stomach that morning.

 

Gendry gave her a sympathetic smile and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I knew this would happen. You’re always so busy taking care of everyone else, you forget about yourself.”

 

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Honestly. One of the maids is bringing me something to eat now. I’ll be back to normal in an hour.”

 

Her husband looked far from convinced, dark brows still furrowed together as he knelt on the floor of the solar.

 

 _Gods, but I love him_.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to lie down? You seem tired.”

 

She was, though she’d never admit it. “Perhaps because my husband is so intent on keeping me up all night with his –” A knock at the door cut her off.

 

“Lady Arya? A tray from the kitchens for you,” said the maid on the other side of the door.

 

Oh, what was her name? Brenna! “Come in, Brenna! Could you set it on the table?”

 

“Of course. Is there anything else I can fetch for you, Lady Arya?”

 

Gendry rose from the ground, offering Arya a hand with which she could leverage herself from the chair. “No thank you, Brenna. I’ll send for you if I think of anything.”

 

“Of course. I hope you’re feeling well again soon, milady.” She offered Arya a courtesy, then another to Gendry. “Milord.” And with that she excused herself from the room, shutting the door behind her.

 

“That doesn’t get any less strange,” he said, following her to the little table that they often used for card games when the weather was particularly abysmal.

 

Arya set her book down on the table and surveyed the tray, pleased to find that none of its contents made her queasy. There was broth, a generous chunk of bread, and a dish full of lemon slices, just as she’d requested. Satisfied that she would be able to stomach the meal, she sat down and tore off a piece of bread, soaking it in broth.

 

Gendry sat across from her, watching her eat in silence for a while. He looked less worried after her fourth or fifth mouthful of food, though he did raise an eyebrow when she reached for a lemon slice.

 

“You should have some,” she offered before sucking the tart juice from the one in her hand. “Lemons are delicious! They’re one of the best parts about living in the south, I think.”

 

“I didn’t realize you were so fond of them,” he chuckled.

 

“It’s a newfound appreciation,” she admitted, reaching for another.

 

“Well, I won’t stand between you and your new love.”

 

Arya shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

 

“So, what are you reading?”

 

She tried to snatch the book out of his grasp, but he was faster than her. “It’s nothing.”

 

Gendry flipped to the page she had marked and started reading aloud. “Dizziness, nausea, and headaches are the most common symptoms, typically lasting two to three turns of the moon. Some women may experience these symptoms into the final weeks before birth. However, these cases are rare and seldom cause for concern…”

 

“Your reading has gotten much better,” she said, genuinely proud of his progress.

 

“Arya, are you…”

 

She twisted her hands together in her lap, unable to meet his incredulous gaze. “I think so,” she breathed after a moment. “I wasn’t sure, and after what the Waif did to me in Braavos I didn’t think it was even possible.”

 

“Why didn’t you just say something?”

 

She gave him a guilty look. “I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Arya admitted.

 

Next thing she knew he was standing in front of her, pulling her out of her chair and into a tight embrace. “You could never disappoint me, love.”

 

She could feel tears starting to sting her eyes. Was that normal? She hadn’t gotten that far in the book yet. “I know how much you want a family. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

 

He leaned back, cradling her face in his calloused hands. “You are my family,” he said, wiping away the tears that had started to fall. “You are all I need, Arya.”

 

“So, if I’m wrong…”

 

“It’s alright. As long as I have you, I’m happy.”

 

“And if I’m right?”

 

He placed a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. “Then I will be even happier. You’d be a wonderful mother, you know.”

 

“Don’t tease,” she sniffled, giving him a half-hearted shove.

 

“I’m not teasing! You’d be a natural. You already take such good care of our little pack, you’d be wonderful with a child.”

 

 _What did I do to deserve him? I need to do more of it_ , she thought. “I hope I’m right,” she whispered, burying her face in his chest. The familiar beating of his heart helped calm the pounding of her own.

 

He stepped back again and gave her a lingering kiss. He didn’t say it out loud, but she knew he felt the same way. “Finish your food. I’m going to fetch the maester.”

 

She sat back down as he made his way towards the door of the solar. “Gendry?” He paused in the doorway and looked back at her. “I love you.”

 

Her husband grinned that stupid, love-struck grin that made her feel like the Maiden herself and Arya fought the urge to roll her eyes at him. “I love you too,” he said before slipping out the door.

 

She pretended not to hear him running down the corridor.


	4. Heavy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one's not so happy...

“Arya! What are you doing?” Gendry quickened his pace to catch up to her on the seemingly endless steps. “The maester told you not to lift anything!”

 

“You misheard him,” she insisted, continuing upwards with the small trunk in her arms. “He told me not to lift anything heavy and this hardly weighs a thing.”

 

It was true, in a sense. The trunk barely strained her arms as she held it in front of her, mindful of the little bump between her hips that was becoming more pronounced by the day.

 

But Arya didn’t measure the weight of its contents by the physical strain they caused her. Every item inside was sure to be heavy on her heart, and she wanted to bear that weight alone.

 

“I’ll take that.” Gendry lifted the trunk from her arms, ignoring her protests and hurrying up the rest of the stairs to the lord’s chamber. “What’s in here? It keeps rattling around,” he said, setting the little trunk on the bed.

 

“Sansa sent it,” she said shortly. “And I could have carried it myself.”

 

She perched on the edge of the bed, tracing her fingers over the direwolf painted on the dark wood.

 

As if reading her mind, Gendry came to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want me to leave?”

 

She’d told herself that she wanted to open it alone, but now that the time had come she found her fingers hovering over the latch in indecision. “Stay,” she said, voice just barely above a whisper. “Open it with me.”

 

He kicked his boots off and climbed onto the bed behind her, pulling her onto his lap so he could see over her shoulder as she flipped the lid of the trunk open.

 

“I believe this is the noise you heard.” Arya reached in and pulled out a little rattle, shaking it for emphasis.

 

“What’s this made of?” Gendry took the toy from her hand to inspect it.

 

“Wood and dried seeds, if I remember correctly. I had a metal one but my mother had to replace it with this because I threw it at Robb and Sansa’s heads.”

 

Gendry laughed at that. “So you’ve always been antagonistic?”

 

“They antagonized me,” she insisted. “I was just defending myself.”

 

The thought of Robb weighed on her heart. Avenging him had been sweet, but she couldn’t help thinking of all the things she would give up for him to be there with her again. No matter what happened, no matter how much time passed, a part of her would always ache for what had been stolen away: Robb’s laughter, her mother’s voice, the little niece or nephew that had never even had the chance to draw breath.

 

Gendry chuckled at the image of his wife as an infant, tiny and full of anger with her siblings. “Well, hopefully the little one doesn’t have your aim.”

 

“Worried she’ll get you in that thick skull of yours?”

 

“Yes, I am,” he admitted tickling her behind the ear in retaliation for her teasing. “You think it’s a girl?”

 

Arya shrugged, pulling a swath of deep blue fabric from the trunk. “I can’t explain why. I just have a feeling.”

 

“I’d like that,” he said, taking the fabric from her hands and holding it out at arm’s length. Arya realized it was a dress, cut to accommodate her growing midsection.

 

“I can’t believe I’m going to get even bigger,” she groaned. “I already can’t wear half my clothes. Are you still going to love me when I’m the size of a boulder?”

 

“More than ever,” he promised. “What else did your sister send you?”

 

There was another dress beneath the first one, this one a silvery grey that matched her eyes. Arya set it with the other one and reached back into the trunk. This time her fingers met with something smooth and curved. She pulled it out and unfurled it to see if it was what she had expected.

 

“What is this?” Gendry reached out to examine the parchment, eyes roving over the web of lines and names.

 

“The Stark family tree. I asked Sansa to send it to us.” She reached back in and pulled out another. “This must be the Tullys’.”

 

“There you are,” Gendry said, pointing to the bottom of the scroll. Sure enough, there was her name, right between Sansa and Bran. She tried not to look at the other names around hers, especially not the dates beneath them which denoted the deaths of her parents and brothers.

 

“There I am,” she confirmed before rolling the family tree back up. “I thought it might help us pick a name for the little one, but there’s plenty of time for that later.”

 

There were more toys beneath the scrolls, though they were clearly meant for an older child. Arya traced her fingers over the smooth wooden figurines one by one. There was a direwolf of course, as well as an intricate stag, a dragon, a bird in flight, a fish, and a fearsome little bear. _No lions_ , she noted but kept the observation to herself.

 

“Were these yours as well?”

 

Arya shook her head. “I’m sure most of my childhood toys are long gone. These must be new.”

 

“They’re pretty,” he said, tracing the scales of the fish with the tip of his finger.

 

Arya hummed in agreement.

 

Gendry reached into the trunk, pulling the last item from the bottom and letting it unfurl in front of them. “What a nice little blanket! Sansa’s been busy, hasn’t she? Look at the embroidery,” he said, admiring the little direwolf in the corner.

 

“Sansa didn’t make this for us,” Arya said, tears suddenly threatening to spill over as she took the soft linen in her hands.

 

“Well I know it’s not for _us_ ,” Gendry laughed.

 

“It’s not new, I mean. She made this blanket when we were children. She worked on the wolf every day for a fortnight. Our septa said it was her best work yet.” In her mind’s eye Arya could still see Sansa’s little face light up at the praise. She had been so proud to show their mother her work.

 

“Why would she-”

 

“It was for Rickon,” Arya whispered as the tears began to spill over.

 

Little baby Rickon, who had lost everything and everyone and hardly known summertime at all. Rickon, who had deserved nothing but laughter and sunlight and little wooden swords. Rickon, who had never signed up for war, but died in the middle of a battlefield anyway.

 

Gendry didn’t seem to know what to say as she clutched the blanket to her chest and let herself cry for her little brother, for her mother, for her father, for Robb. The weight of her grief seemed to crash down on her all at once, heavy and suffocating. She wondered how she had carried it so long without falling to her knees.

 

“I’m so sorry, love. They should be here,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

 

She leaned into him as the tears stained her dress, letting him help her bear the weight for a while.


	5. Child

“Tancred?”

 

Arya scrunched her face up. “No, that’s terrible.”

 

Gendry sighed in frustration, turning his attention back to the scroll in front of him. “At this rate our child’s name is going to be Little One.”

 

“We’ll think of something,” Arya said, fighting a yawn. Sleep had eluded both of them as of late and it was starting to show. Arya complained that she simply couldn’t get comfortable most of the time. When she finally did find a position that eased the pain in her back, her bladder forced her up and out of bed. And Gendry, for his part, simply couldn’t stop worrying long enough to get a full night’s rest.

 

“Soon, I hope. I’m afraid we don’t have much time left,” he said, eyeing her round stomach. “You’re sure you wouldn’t want one of your brothers’ names?”

 

Arya shook her head. “I just don’t think I could bear it. Besides, the world isn’t ready for another Robert Baratheon.”

 

Gendry couldn’t disagree with her on that particular point, but he was at his wit’s end. They had already ruled out everything from Hoster to Jonald in their search for the perfect name and nothing seemed to resonate with both of them. Everything was either too simple or too elaborate, too harsh or too flowery, too mundane or too ridiculous.

 

Gendry gave up on the Baratheon scroll and got up from his chair. The one in front of his wife was easily twice as big, taking up most of the table. Surely there had to be a decent name on there somewhere.

 

“Brandon is certainly popular,” he noted, looking over her shoulder at all of the Starks laid out on the parchment.

 

Arya hummed in agreement, absentmindedly running a hand over her belly. “Benjen too.”

 

“And you’re still against Eddard?”

 

Arya looked up at him with those big grey eyes and he knew her answer before she even spoke. “I loved my father more than anything,” she said. “He was loyal and honest and everything else I hope our child will be, but I don’t want to put the weight of his legacy on such little shoulders.”

 

Gendry kissed her temple. “Alright then, what about…Edric?”

 

The name appeared a few times on the parchment, though not nearly as often as Brandon, Benjen, or any of their many variations.

 

“Edric Baratheon…” Arya tried the name out, letting it roll across her tongue for a moment. “That’s not bad at all. I like it, actually. We could still call him Ned, if we wanted.”

 

Gendry felt a bit of the tension in his shoulders release. “Edric is perfect.”

 

“What if it’s a girl?” Arya had told him early on that she suspected she was carrying a little girl and she’d maintained that she was right since then. “We should pick a name from your side,” she suggested.

 

Gendry returned to the Baratheon scroll and began searching again. He was still not used to thinking of the names there as his family. Arya was his family. These were just…ancestors.

 

“Tell me if you hear one you like,” he instructed, then started reading the names he thought weren’t completely terrible. “Simona, Kelyce, Ellyn, Lynett, Cassandra…”

 

“Oh!” Arya’s hand moved higher up, pressing just below her ribs. “What was that last one?”

 

“Cassandra.”

 

She winced as she apparently received another well-placed kick. “I think she likes that one.”

 

Gendry walked back to where his wife was sitting and helped her up, hoping the change in position would appease their child. Arya had worried endlessly about how big her stomach grew over the course of her pregnancy, but Gendry couldn’t deny that he loved the way she looked with their child growing inside of her. Motherhood suited her, really. Even with a belly that kept her from lacing her own boots and dark circles under her eyes, she seemed to glow from the inside.

 

Arya giggled as he lowered himself to the floor, kneeling so his face was even with her midsection. “Hello Cassandra, it’s your Papa,” he said, placing his hands on top of Arya’s as he addressed the little one. “Do you like your name? Cassandra Baratheon. I think that’s quite nice, don’t you?”

 

The only response he got was a firm little kick to the hand. It still thrilled him every time their child moved, but he could see on Arya’s face how uncomfortable it had become to accommodate that movement.

 

“Alright Cassandra, do you think you can give your mother some peace for the next few hours? She has a very important meeting to attend with Papa.”

 

“You’ll have to roll me down the stairs,” Arya joked.

 

Gendry stood up and captured her face between his hands. “Nonsense,” he chided her before placing a kiss on her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. “I can still carry you.”

 

Arya was about to open her mouth, likely to dispel the truth of his statement, when he swept her up into his arms and made his way towards the door.

 

“Gendry! I wasn’t being serious!”

 

“I was,” he informed her.

 

“Let me walk before we both fall down the stairs.”

 

“Alright, alright.” He set her down gently, making sure she was steady on her feet before removing his hand from her back. “Is there any way I can convince you to lie down? You look exhausted.”

 

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “You worry too much. Besides, the new canals were my idea. I want to see this through.”

 

And see it through she did. Arya sat through the meeting without complaint, although Gendry’s trained eye could tell her back was sore and tired. She’d been understandably distracted as of late but still gave valuable input and ideas throughout the meeting. Gendry couldn’t help the swell of pride he felt as he watched her discuss the merits of different layouts and building practices with the assembled lords.

 

When the meeting was finally concluded he tried to convince her to have an early supper and lie down. Arya wasn’t having it though.

 

“It’s a beautiful day,” she told him. “Let’s go for a walk.”  
  
Gendry sighed, wishing she would rest for a while. _You didn’t marry her because she was docile_ , he reminded himself. Relenting, he followed her through the doors of the castle and into the courtyard. She led him to the godswood and turned her face to the sun.

 

“It’s going to storm tonight.”

 

“You can’t possibly know that,” he said, falling into step with her.

 

Arya opened her eyes to glance at him. “You’ll see.”

 

“You’re very mysterious today.”

 

She grinned, reaching out to take his hand. They walked in silence for a few minutes, taking in the sunlight. The fruit trees were blossoming and Gendry stopped to pluck an apple blossom from a low branch and tuck it in one of Arya’s braids.

 

“Being a lord has made you soft,” she teased.

 

He was about to retort when her grip on his hand became crushing and a grimace crossed her face.

 

“Arya! What’s wrong?”

 

 She took a deep breath and slowly loosened her grip on his hand. “Just a little bit of a cramp. The ones this morning weren’t half so bad though,” she said, still catching her breath.

 

“It’s been happening all day?” Gendry couldn’t believe she hadn’t said anything.

 

Arya opened her mouth to respond, only for her face to morph into a strange expression. “Either I’ve just pissed myself,” she said slowly, “or it’s time to get the maester.”

 

Gendry’s heart dropped into his stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

Arya had been right. A storm did come. It raged for hours into the night as she was wracked with pain like lightning strikes.  

 

Gendry had been banished by the maester after the first few hours on account of his nervous energy. He’d never been religious but he had made his way to the sept to plead with the Mother on his wife’s behalf anyway. When he ran out of things to say he made his way to the godswood and repeated his prayers to the gods of her father.

 

When he’d returned to their chambers in his dripping tunic they had taken pity on him, letting him change his clothes and return to Arya’s side.

 

“The first is always the worst,” said the old maid in charge of helping her through the birth. “It’s bound to be more difficult for a little thing like you.”

 

All Gendry could think of was Arya’s aunt who had died bringing Jon into the world. If Arya shared her fate…

 

She must have read the distress on his face because she raised a hand to his cheek to keep his gaze on hers. “Not today,” she whispered.

 

“Not today,” he agreed. “What can I do?”

 

“Distract me?” She clenched her jaw as another wave of pain rushed through her.

 

“Do you remember when we were traveling to the wall? Remember how you tried to run Hot Pie through with your sword?”

 

“That feels like ages ago.”

 

He hummed in agreement as she gripped his hand. “It was,” he agreed when the pain had subsided. “Do you remember when you told me your real name?’  
  
“And all you could think about was your cock? Yes, I remember,” she laughed. “I can’t blame you. It’s a nice cock.”

 

Gendry ignored the scandalized glances of the maester and the maid. “If only you’d know all the trouble it would get you into. Do you remember when Brienne walked in on us in the armory?”

 

Arya gave him a weak laugh. “She couldn’t look at me without blushing for a fortnight.”

 

The next wave of pain overtook her, drawing a wholly unpleasant groan from the cage of Arya’s clenched teeth. This one seemed to last longer than the rest. When it finally ebbed he returned to the memory they’d been sharing.

 

“We’d spent all morning that day meeting with the other lords, remember? And the whole time all I could think about was how beautiful you looked in your breeches, commanding the room like you were born for it.”

 

“One of the little pricks asked what in the seven hells I was doing there,” she recalled.

 

“You almost had his head for it. I’ll never forget the look you gave him,” Gendry said, grinning at the memory. “I damn near took you right there.”

 

Arya looked like she wanted to laugh but another bout of pain seized her and didn’t seem to want to let go.

 

“Milady, it’s time to push,” the maester announced.

 

As bad as it had been before, the next part was ten times worse. Arya had seen battle, fought formidable enemies, but the fight to bring forth their child seemed to put the rest to shame. He wanted to do something to help – wished there was some way he could take the pain for her. He could see the pallor of her skin, feel the sweat that beaded on her face, hear her every cry of pain.

 

His heart stopped when a second cry joined the fray, high pitched and helpless. It could have been a few seconds or a full day and night between the moment he heard her and the moment she was placed in his arms. Nothing seemed to exist in that time except her tiny cry, Arya’s relieved face, and the lightning flashing outside their window.

 

She was real. She was there. She was theirs.

 

He wanted to spend an eternity marveling at her little pink face, her tiny fists, or the dusting of dark fluff atop her head.

 

“She’s perfect,” Arya mumbled, completely spent. “Hello Cassie.”

 

Gendry looked at the face of the woman beside him and found he was at a loss for words. She had promised him once that she could be his family. He’d been too stupid to take her up on it at the time, but life had granted them a second chance. He hadn’t been stupid enough to refuse her the second time she offered.

 

And now she had given him a more precious gift than he could have ever hoped for.

 

“Thank you,” he managed, finding his own face moist with tears. “Thank you for my family.”


	6. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set somewhere between chapters two and three.

_Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe._  
  
In theory, it should have been easy. After all, she had been doing it since the day she was born. Breathing wasn’t the type of thing one typically needed to be reminded to do.  
  
Today, however, she found herself focused on the simple act of taking air in and pushing it back out. Perhaps it was excitement, or nerves, or the simple fact that Sansa had laced her dress so tightly that Arya thought her insides might have been permanently damaged. Whatever the reason, she found herself gripping Jon’s arm a little tighter as he escorted her through the halls of Winterfell and repeating her internal mantra with every step.  
  
_Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…_  
  
Jon paused as they approached the doors to the courtyard and turned to face her. “Are you ready?”  
  
_Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…_  
  
She wasn’t sure how to answer. She knew what was waiting beyond those doors and she wasn’t afraid, but she also knew that if she had any doubts she needed to turn back now. Once they walked through those doors Jon would lead her to the Godswood, place her hand in Gendry’s, and join the rest of her family and friends in witnessing their wedding ceremony.  
  
Was she ready for that?  
  
_Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…_  
  
Arya smoothed her skirt down for what felt like the hundredth time since she’d put it on. Sansa hadn’t let her sew a single stitch on the gown, citing some old superstition. Arya couldn’t begrudge her the honor — not when her own sewing skills were still so abysmal and Sansa’s superstition had proven true once before. She’d worried it would come out flowery and soft-looking like the one Sansa had worn to her third (and final) wedding, but her sister knew her better than that.  
  
Arya's was a simple dress made of pale grey fabric, but Sansa had embellished it with weirwood branches along the hem and neckline. When she saw it for the first time, Arya couldn’t help but think of a different dress from a lifetime ago — one with so many little acorns on it, she’d complained of looking like an oak tree. Even then Gendry had said she looked nice, though she was scrawny and her hair was cut short like a boy’s.  
  
She didn’t look like a boy today. Not with her gown cinched tightly to exaggerate her meager curves and a neckline that dipped just low enough to allude to her modest cleavage without putting it on display. Her hair, which now fell just below her shoulders, had been styled with a few simple braids that swept it away from her face. No, she certainly didn’t look like a boy today.  
  
“You look beautiful,” Jon assured her.  
  
Arya let out a shaky laugh as she fanned her cloak out behind her. It was a simple fur-lined thing with no embellishment, save for the clasp which Gendry had made himself to resemble a dire wolf howling at the moon. Arya had to admit she was a bit sad she would be parting with the garment. “I feel like I’m missing something.”  
  
“It’s because you’re not armed,” he chuckled, absentmindedly reaching for the place on his hip where Longclaw usually rested.  
  
“Speak for yourself.” She lifted up her skirts just enough for him to see the hilt of her dagger poking out from the top of her boot.  
  
Now he was laughing in earnest and Arya couldn’t help but join in. “And to think I was worried you’d turned into a real lady.”  
  
“How quickly you lose faith,” she teased.  
  
There was a stretch of silence before Jon spoke again. “Arya, if you don’t want to do this — ”  
  
“I’m ready,” she announced, cutting him off. “I want to do this.”  
  
And in the deepest part of her heart she knew it was true. She wanted to get married. She wanted to walk through those doors and become Gendry’s wife because he was her friend, her lover, her family, and her home all in one.  
  
When she was a girl she had sworn that marriage was not for her and that she would never submit to some fat old lord who only wanted her for her title and her womb, but Gendry didn’t ask her to submit. Gendry never asked her for anything more than she was willing to give, and she loved him for it. Theirs, she had realized, could be a marriage of equals.  
  
“In that case, let’s not keep him waiting.” Jon pushed the doors open and the two of them walked out into the cool evening. A fresh dusting of snow had fallen over the Godswood that day, making every branch of the weirwood tree glitter in the light of the many torches that shone beneath it.  
  
She was vaguely aware of everyone turning towards them as she and Jon rounded the bend in the pathway, but none of them mattered when she found the one face she’d been searching for. Gendry was standing at the base of the weirwood tree in a dark cloak that fell just past his knees. His hair was longer than it had been when he’d arrived at Winterfell and Arya knew from experience that it was as soft and thick as it was dark and unruly. He looked like a man, not the boy she had met so long ago, though the awestruck look on his face did offer him an air of childish wonder.  
  
She wanted to be standing next to him already but Jon’s steady pace and the hinderance of her skirts kept her from running towards him and throwing her arms around his neck.  
  
_Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…_  
  
She kept the mantra up in her head as they slowly approached the base of the tree, stopping when Arya and Gendry were within arm’s reach of each other. Without a word, Jon turned to his sister and cradled her face in his hands as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. John had never been a man of many words, but the gesture spoke such volumes to Arya that she nearly teared up as he stepped away and made a spot for himself next to Brienne. The knowledge that he was there for her, and that his love for her remained despite the years apart helped ease the sting of her father’s absence, just as Sansa’s fawning had distracted her from the acute awareness that her mother should have been the one to help her into her gown today.  
  
There had been some debate over who should officiate the ceremony but the task had eventually fallen to Bran, who slowly wheeled his chair to face the two of them. “Who comes before the Old Gods this night?”  
  
“I, Arya, of the House Stark, come here to be wed. I come to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to join me?”  
  
The few people who were aware that she had deviated from tradition kept silent, which Arya took as a good sign. She had always hated the idea of being handed off like property from one man to another, so she had refused. Nobody seemed too shaken by the fact and soon it was Gendry’s turn to speak.  
  
“I do. Gendry of the house Baratheon, heir to Storm’s End.”  
  
Arya could tell the words still felt foreign to him, but he said them clearly nonetheless.  
  
She glanced over at Bran as he  spoke again. “And who gives this woman?”  
  
“I give myself,” Arya announced, earning a few murmurs from the small crowd behind her.  
  
Bran simply nodded. “Arya, will you take this man?”  
  
“I will.”  
  
Taking Gendry’s hand in her own, the two of them knelt before the tree in silence. Arya didn’t know what to pray for, so she simply asked the Old Gods for the same things she always did: health, happiness, and the wisdom to be a good leader. After a few more moments she squeezed Gendry’s hand, signaling that they should stand up and remove their cloaks.  
  
Typically only the bride received a cloak — a symbol of her groom’s protection. Truth be told though, Arya didn’t need Gendry’s protection. Still, she appreciated it and offered him hers in return. They had agreed that their wedding should be representative of that.  
  
She undid the elegant clasp on her own cloak first, missing its warmth almost as soon as she took it off. Luckily, it was soon replaced by the one Gendry had been wearing all night. When he had finished fastening the bronze antler clasp across her chest, he knelt down in front of her and allowed her to return the favor, tossing her cloak over his shoulders and securing it when he had returned to his full height.  
  
It took all Arya had not to run back down the aisle when he took her hand and led her away from the tree. She felt a sudden urge to jump or roll or somersault across the ground like she did when she was a child. She was overflowing, she realized. She was too full of happiness.  
  
Gendry must have been too because the second they were out of sight, he picked her up in his arms and spun her around, laughing like he hadn’t in years. Arya looped her arms around his neck and laughed too. When he had made them both a little dizzy, he set her down, resting his forehead against hers and letting her steady herself with her hands on his chest.  
  
“You’re finally my family,” she whispered, tracing one of the wolves on his chest with her finger.  
  
“Finally,” he agreed, leaning forward.  
  
When he kissed her, it felt like she was taking her first deep breath all day.  
  
_Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…_  
  
_Just keep breathing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The superstition mentioned is that for every stitch a bride sews on her wedding dress, she will cry a tear in her marriage. Sansa made her own wedding dress for her wedding to Ramsay and, well... I'm not certain where the superstition comes from, but it seemed fitting. Hopefully nobody will begrudge my use of it. As always, I appreciate hearing your thoughts!


	7. Puncture

Arya was still a hopeless seamstress, though it wasn’t for a lack of trying this time. She paid such close attention as her needle punctured the fabric over and over, trying to make the spaces between the stitches even, only to hold the garment out in front of her and find the hem completely lopsided. Sighing, she set the garment aside.  
  
“I suppose we’ll just have to ask Aunt Sansa to send you more pretty things to wear,” she said to the sleeping bundle in the cradle on her right.  
  
Cassie didn’t respond, just silently clenched her little fists as the rain outside pattered against the windows, lulling her to sleep.  
  
Sometimes, during moments like this, Arya could understand how her mother had been persuaded to endure the pain of childbirth on five separate occasions. Every flutter of her daughter’s eyelashes, every squeak and cry, every movement of her tiny fingers was enchanting. Of course Gendry had been a slave to Cassandra’s every desire from the second she was placed in his arms, but Arya had worried.  
  
She had committed so much of her time to learning how to take life. And then all of a sudden she had been creating it instead, and she had been terrified that the girl who watched men die and felt peace about it couldn’t possibly become the woman who looked into the eyes of her child and felt as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist. But she had.  
  
She had looked at her daughter and known in that moment that this is what she had been fighting for. Her prize for every battle was the chance to kiss her daughter’s head as she rocked her to sleep at night. Every scar and bruise had been for this.  
  
Cass let out a little sigh in her sleep, reminding Arya that she was probably late for a meeting she had scheduled with Gendry and some of the other lords from the Stormlands. Surely they could wait just a few more minutes?  
  
She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of the door being pushed open. Looking up, she expected to see Gendry but was instead met with an unfamiliar face.  
  
“Lady Baratheon! I beg your pardon, truly. I was told you would be at the council,” the servant blathered, bowing down as soon as his eyes fell upon her.  
  
She took the servant in, realizing he was probably only just old enough to be considered a man. His sandy hair fell across his brow in loose curls and a thin scar cut across his cheek, from the base of his nose to the corner of his eye. He wasn’t strong by any means but not quite scrawny either, and something about him set her on edge.  
  
Perhaps it was the fact that he had mistakenly addressed her by her husband’s name and not her own that made her take a closer look at the boy who had barged into the solar. Or perhaps it was just the familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her that she ought to have a weapon in her hand. Whatever the case, she found her hand drifting to the dagger at her hip.  
  
“I lost track of the time,” she said, schooling her features and standing from her chair. The hem of her gown brushed the floor as she shifted to stand between the boy and Cassie’s cradle and she wished she had opted for breeches that morning instead. How was she to have known she would need the clothing most convenient for fighting instead of what was most convenient for nursing?  
  
No matter. If it came to it, she could kill him just as well in a dress. She hoped it wouldn’t come to it.  
  
“Shall I escort you downstairs?” The boy seemed the very picture of courtesy.  
  
At least, he would, if not for the glint of metal at his wrist. Arya had seen enough knives in her life to recognize one.  
  
Very well then, she thought to herself.  
  
She let him draw his blade as she advanced on him, only to slash her own across his arm. The knife clattered to the floor as droplets of blood splattered the grey linen of her skirt.  
  
“Tell me who sent you and I’ll give you a quick death,” she growled, letting the Valerian steel hover over his throat.  
  
The boy said nothing. He simply raised his chin in defiance and glared down at Cassie’s cradle.  
  
“I did warn you,” she reminded him before her blade punctured his thigh.  
  
She had been careful not to cut the artery that would cause him to bleed out, but the wound was deep and blood flew from it, staining her dress, her hands, and the floor.  
  
“I ask again,” she hissed, grabbing a fistful of hair to hold him in place. “Who sent you?”  
  
Another stretch of silence and her dagger punctured his abdomen.  
  
He tried to double over, only to cry out in pain when she yanked him to his feet by his hair.  
  
“Who sent you?”  
  
“A bastard’s daughter will never rule the Stormlands. More will come for her,” he spat.  
  
He hadn’t said a name, but he’d said enough. She slit his throat with practiced efficiency and tried to ignore the blood as is it sprayed in all directions. His body had scarcely hit the floor before she was turning around to check on Cass.  
  
She had woken up at some point but did not cry or fuss, simply followed Arya’s face with her big blue eyes.  
  
“There’s my little wolf,” Arya whispered, sheathing her dagger so she could lift her daughter. “You were so brave.”  
  
She must have looked a fright because every maid and squire she passed on her way to the main hall scurried away as if their life depended on it. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw the faces of every lord assembled there turn white as parchment when she shoved the doors open and swept into the room. Between the blood-soaked gown and the look on her face, she didn’t blame them for being scared.  
  
Especially not Lord Errol.  
  
Gendry’s chair clattered to the floor as he stood up, running to meet her. “Arya! What happened? Cassie…”  
  
“She’s alright,” she assured him. “Didn’t even cry.”  
  
Gendry seemed relieved to hear that, though no less confused. “Arya, the blood…”  
  
“It’s not mine. It’s not either of ours.”  
  
He knew she hated public displays of affection, but she let him press his lips to her forehead anyway.  
  
“Could you hold her for a moment?”  
  
Gendry still looked like he had a million questions in his eyes, but he let her pass Cassie off into his arms anyway.  
  
“Lord Errol, I seem to recall you were…unenthused by my husband’s legitimization.”  
  
The man ran a hand through his greying hair, desperately trying to avoid eye contact. “My lady, I…”  
  
“And if I recall correctly, you were even less pleased to learn that our daughter would be heir to the Stormlands. What was it you said at that banquet? That ‘letting a bastard rule is foolish, but letting a girl rule is idiocy.’ Did I get it right?”  
  
The old man sputtered out more disjointed words, but Arya had no interest in hearing them.  
  
“Your servant has already met the god of death. His body is in my chambers, probably still seeping blood onto the floor. So the only question I have for you is this: shall I kill you now for trying to have my daughter murdered, or would you rather stand trial so all the world can know of your atrocities?”  
  
The next few moments were so silent that Arya almost thought she could hear her prey’s heart beating. She had always been a wolf. Now these men would learn what happened to those who threatened the pack.  
  
“I demand a trial by combat,” the fat lord cried.  
  
Sighing, Arya wrapped her hand around the hilt of her dagger but didn’t draw it.  
  
Justice would be done. In due time she would have the blood she craved. For now she would let her banner men drag Errol to the dungeons and content herself with the way her little wolf reached for her, despite the smattering of blood across her face. It wouldn’t be the last time Cassie saw her take a life.


	8. Ivory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter jumps forward in time about five years from the last.

“Now, when you see an opening, lunge forward like this,” Podrick said, demonstrating the move with his blunt sword.  
  
Cassie hefted the little wooden sword in her hand and tried to mimic his motion.  
  
“Well done, Milady.”  
  
Arya watched quietly from the doorway as the lesson went on, pleased to see the grin that spread across her daughter’s face every time the knight praised her swordsmanship. One day Arya would teach her water dancing and how to fight with a dagger, but for now Podrick’s lessons were enough to keep her entertained and out of trouble.  
  
Cassandra had become a fierce little thing in her five years. Though she was all black hair and blue eyes like her father, she was still her mother’s little wolf. The whole castle knew her to be headstrong, curious, and eager to wield a weapon — even if she was only allowed wooden ones. Arya had once heard a guard laugh and say that if the little lady wasn’t running it was only because she had fallen asleep, and she hadn’t been able to dispute him. Cass was a seemingly endless fountain of energy.  
  
Serena, on the other hand, was as shy and docile as a little doe, with big innocent eyes to match. It was no wonder she had Gendry so thoroughly wrapped around her little finger. Even as an infant she had plainly favored him, crying in Arya’s arms until her papa laid her against his chest and cooed to her about how sweet and perfect she was.   
  
Cass may have been all Baratheon in her looks, but Serena was a reminder to her mother that Tully blood ran through both their veins. She had silver Stark eyes and Arya’s brown hair, but it had a coppery shine in the sunlight and her delicate features often made Arya think of her sister and their mother. Sometimes she reminded Arya so much of Sansa that she would get a sudden itch to send her sister a Raven inviting her south.   
  
Now that Serena was old enough to toddle around on her own two feet, her favorite activity was chasing after her father as he pretended to run away. He let her win the little game every time, scooping her up and spinning her around when she caught him. Serena would giggle at that and run her little hands over the short beard he had been sporting as of late. The sight always made Arya’s heart ache with affection.   
  
Right now her heart ached for another reason though. Gendry had sailed for Tarth over a fortnight ago, leaving her to govern alone. She had wished their roles could be reversed, and that she were the one sailing to the Sapphire Isle instead. But as she looked down at the infant in her arms, born less than three moons ago, she knew it was impossible. For now, her place was with her children.  
  
Rhaelle had fought sleep for as long as she could but now her tiny eyelids fluttered and Arya wondered what sorts of dreams caused it. Hopefully the good kind. She pushed off from the doorway, leaving Cassie in Pod’s capable hands as she headed towards the lord’s chambers.   
  
Serena would be lying in the middle of her and Gendry’s bed, having been lulled to sleep by a happy story a quarter of an hour earlier. Aya knew she should make her middle daughter take her naps in her own chambers, but the poor thing missed her papa so terribly that Arya had decided it would be alright to relent on the matter just this once. Now that Rhae had drifted off too, she could be settled in her cradle next to the bed and free Arya’s hands up enough to let her work for an hour. There was a stack of documents on her desk in need of reviewing and…  
  
Arya stopped dead in her tracks. The room had heavy curtains, drawn shut to help the little lady inside sleep, but there was just enough light slipping through that Arya could make out a massive figure hovering over Serena’s sleeping form. The little doe seemed unaware that anything was amiss, but the image made another spring to Arya’s mind.  
  
Her heart stopped its beating for a moment, as if to aid her silence as she shifted Rhaelle to one arm and used the other to reach for her dagger. She had killed for her daughters before, in these very chambers. She wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.  
  
“I would appreciate it, dear wife, if you didn’t stab me in front of the children.”  
  
Arya sheathed her dagger again, letting the tension fall from her shoulders. “You’re home.”  
  
Moving further into the room, she could more clearly make out her husband’s face. He looked tired, though his eyes were as bright as ever and the corners of them still crinkled up when he smiled at her. “I thought I would surprise you for once.”  
  
“You almost surprised yourself into an early grave,” she whispered as he took her hand and dragged her closer.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he said, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear and kissing her forehead before his gaze drifted down to Rhaelle’s sleeping face. “I swear she’s grown since I left. How is that possible?”  
  
“They grow quickly,” she reminded him. “We should let them sleep.”  
  
Gendry released her hand so she could set Rhaelle down in her cradle, then followed her into the solar as quietly as he could manage. She was about to suggest they go find Cassie when she felt her husbands arms begin to snake their way around her waist. Years ago, when they had first arrived at Storm’s End, she would have let this interaction play out. Now, as Gendry’s lips found the curve of her neck, tickling her skin with his beard, she let her better judgement win out.   
  
Cassie could come barging in at any moment, and there was no telling how long Serena and Rhaelle would stay asleep. Much as she wanted to give him a proper homecoming, it would have to wait a few more hours. Once the girls were asleep in their own chambers, she would show him exactly how much she missed him, but for now…  
  
“I brought you something,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear and weakening her resolve.   
  
“It had better not be your cock,” she warned him. “Cassie’s lesson with Pod will be over soon.”  
  
He tugged at the pouch on his hip, loosening it just enough to withdraw a small box and hold it in front of her face. “Open it.”  
  
Arya felt him rest his chin on top of her head as she took the box from him. He’d been known to bring her back new weapons when he left her, but this box didn’t look like it could fit anything more than an arrowhead. She pulled the lid off to reveal a coiled silver chain adorned with three pearls.   
  
“I know you don’t wear jewelry, but I thought that you ought to have some for special occasions.”  
  
Arya traced a finger over the ivory spheres, admiring the way they seemed to glow in the light that filtered through the window. It was beautiful, but small and subtle enough that she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable wearing it. “It’s pretty.”  
  
“You like it?” Gendry sounded half surprised.  
  
“I do. Will you put it on?” She held the chain out to him and let him fasten it around her neck.  
  
The iridescent ivory of the pearls stood out against her tanned skin in a way that made her feel silly for ever wishing she were as porcelain-toned as her sister. “What do you think?” She turned around so Gendry could admire his gift.  
  
“Beautiful.” Arya didn’t miss the way his eyes softened as he said it. He tapped a fingertip against the pearls. “One for each of our girls. How have they been?”  
  
“Rhae is finally starting to sleep through the night, which is good because Cassie is up with the sun nearly every morning. Podrick has her convinced she’s better with a sword than half the Westerosi army. She charged one of the guards with her practice sword yesterday.”  
  
“That’s our little wolf,” he chuckled. “How was Serena?”  
  
“A nightmare,” she admitted. “Cried herself to sleep the first few nights because you weren’t there to tell her a story and sing to her. All of my stories were too scary and she only wanted me to sing the forest song, which I don’t know.”  
  
“Yes you do,” he laughed again.  
  
“If I knew it, I would have spared myself some trouble and sung it for her,” Arya insisted.  
  
Gendry pulled her close again, resting one hand on her back as if they were dancing, then leaned in close as he started humming. Even after all this time, Arya could still remember the words that accompanied the tune.   
  
_My featherbed is deep and soft,_  
 _and there I'll lay you down…_  
  
“ _That’s_ the forest song? Tom’s stupid love song?”  
  
“She likes it,” Gendry shrugged. “I can’t say I blame her. It always made me think of you — some poor bastard trying to convince a wild beauty to settle down with him…”  
  
“A wild beauty? I looked like a grubby little boy when we met,” she reminded him, “and not much better when we parted ways.”  
  
“The wild bit always fit…”   
  
Arya laughed at that, leaning her head against Gendry’s chest and listening to the thrum of his heart.  
  
“I missed you,” she mumbled, fingers intertwining with his.   
  
Gendry pressed another kiss to the top of her head. “I missed you too, M’lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, did I scare you? Even just for a second? I'd love to know your thoughts!


	9. Pink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a few months before the events of chapter 3.

The trip to Storm’s End was not half as bad as Arya had expected. Gendry had called the weather ‘favorable’ as their party descended towards the Kingswood but the bannermen that made up most of their group obviously did not agree with his assessment. Arya could see them wilting under the heat each day, like crops gone too long without water. Gendry didn’t mind it, and Arya had spent so long bouncing between various climates that her body seemed to take the ever increasing temperature in stride, but many of the men who followed them were northerners traveling south for the first time.

 

The Riverlands had been quite forgiving, offering clear skies and a comfortable breeze. Once in a while she would hear a long and almost forlorn howl off in the distance and her heart would stop. She hoped, of course, that it was Nymeria calling out to her but didn’t truly know until she had glimpsed a familiar pair of amber eyes as she was collecting kindling.

 

The wolf was even bigger than she remembered and for a moment they simply stared at each other. Arya was struck with an inexplicable desire to explain herself, as if the wolf would understand anything she said. Instead she held out her hand, letting the great creature sniff her wrist before pushing her head against Arya’s palm.

 

“I’ve missed you,” Arya whispered, although even she didn’t know whether the words were directed at the wolf or the wild and wonderous part of herself that came alive when they were together. As a girl she had often thought of  Nymeria when she needed to be brave. _I am a wolf_ , she had told herself, _and I will not be afraid._ Sometimes it had helped, sometimes it hadn’t.

 

“Arya!” Gendry was calling from somewhere far behind her, his voice nearly drowned out by distant howling.

 

“Your pack needs you,” Arya told her. “Mine needs me too.”

 

Nymeria leaned into her hand for a moment before turning around and loping off. She paused to look back at Arya one more time, and then she was gone.

 

Now, as they entered the Crownlands, their only companion seemed to be the constant beating of the sun. They woke before dawn each day, trying to cover as much ground as possible before the heat became oppressive. A few days before, Podrick had gently suggested that they begin taking a midday break for water and rest and Arya had agreed.

 

They were half a day’s ride from Brindlewood, when Gendry sought her out. They had stopped to water the horses and Arya stood alongside her mare as she drank, stroking her sliver-grey side.

 

“Davos says we should make it to Brindlewood by nightfall,” he said, dismounting his own horse and leading the gelding to the water. “We could stay for a day and let everyone rest.”

 

“Or we could stay for a day and _not_ rest,” she smirked, casting him a sideways glance.

 

Despite the heat he pulled her close, holding her back against his chest and leaning down to whisper in her ear. “It’s been too damn long since we’ve had a proper door.”

 

Arya sighed. “And walls…and a bed.”

 

Gendry kissed her neck, stubble scratching her exposed skin. The sound of someone riding up behind them quickly forced the two apart, but Arya let her mind wander as she led her horse back towards where the rest of the group was gathered. She would get them a room at an inn tonight and she would make the most of their time there. Storm’s End had sat empty for years now. Surely it could wait an extra day?

 

When they arrived in town their party split up, some to gather supplies before shops closed down for the night, some to a tavern for a hot meal and some ale, and two of them to a little inn off of the main street. Gendry tended the horses while she went inside to procure a room for them.

 

A young woman with hair the color of wheat greeted her when Arya entered. “Room for one?”

 

“Two,” Arya corrected her. “My husband will  be along soon.”

 

The girl raised an eyebrow at that, no doubt surprised to learn that the breeches-clad disaster in front of her had somehow managed to tie a man down. She kept her thoughts to herself though, which Arya appreciated. “Have you been married long? You look young,” she said instead.

 

“Four years,” Arya tells her and the girl nods thoughtfully.

 

She’d had the same exchange with every innkeeper she’d spoken to between Moat Cailin and Darry. They asked about her husband, then if they had children, then pretended not to pity her when she said no. She never bothered to tell them that it was by choice. It didn’t matter.

 

 _Perhaps_ , she had thought to herself as they traced their path along the kingsroad, _when we are settled at Storm’s End I’ll stop drinking the tea._ She didn’t share that decision with Gendry for fear he would get his hopes up. He would be an excellent father, despite his reservations, but Arya thought of the scars that stood out against her abdomen and worried.

 

Still, if she was going to be tied down with a castle to run and people to look after anyway, where was the harm in trying? Gendry had spent the last few years following her from one city to the next as she tried to do her part to strengthen the realm and never once complained. She knew he disliked the long days on horseback and the nights spent below decks of some ship, but he had promised to follow her to the ends of the earth once and he would not break that vow. Surely she could at least _try_ to give him a child in return?

 

She was pulled from her thoughts by the innkeeper’s next question. “Travelling south?”

 

Arya nodded and the blonde offered her a small jar of green-tinged goop. “I can always spot travelers from the North,” she said, pressing the jar into Arya’s hand. “You lot burn easier than anyone. This ought to help soothe those poor cheeks of yours.”  


Arya pressed a hand to her face, surprised to find it hot to the touch. No doubt her face was as pink as if she were blushing. “Thank you.”

 

“Are you staying in town long? The new lord of Storm’s End is meant to be passing through soon.”

 

“Really?” Arya feigned surprise at the news.

 

The girl nodded, leaning in closer. “I heard he’s quite handsome. Not that a married woman such as yourself would notice such things,” she added with a wink.

 

“Where did you hear that?”

 

“Fellow who passed through a few days ago said he ran into their party at the Crossroads Inn. He said the serving girls there couldn’t get enough of the lad, but he only had eyes for his wife. Makes you wonder if he really is the son of that useless old king.”

 

Arya was about to ask what the traveler had said about her when the door opened again. “There you are,” Gendry said, easing it shut behind him. “I thought you’d be upstairs already.”

 

“Not without getting caught up on the latest gossip first,” she teased. “Apparently you’re meant to be quite handsome.”

 

Gendry chuckled, pulling her under his arm. “Well, as you can see, the rumors are false.”

 

“It’s alright, love. I married you for your skill with a hammer anyway.”

 

The innkeeper seemed to struggle for words for a moment before gathering her wits enough to courtesy deeply. “Milord, milady, I didn’t realize…”

 

“Most people don’t,” Arya assured her.

 

“If there is anything at all I can do be of service, please do not hesitate. Anything at all.”

 

“A room is all we require for now,” Gendry said gently. “Preferably one with a door that locks.”

 

He didn’t say anything else, but the look he gave Arya spoke volumes. The poor innkeeper blushed so fiercely that, for a short time, her cheeks were as pink as Arya’s.


	10. Lightning*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Spoilers for S8 E2*
> 
> In honor of #ForgeSex (OMG I CAN'T BELIEVE IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED) and because I legit used this chapter to bribe jessforthethrone on tumblr, here's some smut. This is the first E rated thing I've ever posted so please be gentle with any criticism. (I'm trying, really.)
> 
> Prompted by thedesignateddriver on tumblr. (She's the best.)
> 
> Takes place about nine months before chapter 5. *wink, wink*

Arya had a feeling she looked like a drowned cat as she traipsed up the many stairs leading to the lord’s chambers. She was supposed to be surveying the training yard when the storm had hit, but “surveying” had already turned into a sparring match with Podrick by the time the first raindrops started falling and neither of them had let it stop them. When he had finally yielded, both of them were soaked to the bone. Arya had sent him back to his room before he caught his death, then headed further up the stairs to the chambers she shared with her husband.

 

They had been at Storm’s end for nearly a fortnight, but today had been the first day Arya had had the chance to actually enjoy some time to herself, even if it was under the guise of assessing the castle and its needs. Although it had been left unattended for sometime, Storm’s end didn’t seem any worse for wear. A few projects required attention here and there, but she and Gendry had agreed that they could wait until more pressing matters had been seen to.

 

Tomorrow they would meet with lords representing every part of the Stormlands to discuss the most pressing needs of the common folk. Arya didn’t say it out loud, but she had a feeling some of the lords might not actually know what those needs were. She hoped to change that.

 

Gendry had already started a fire in their solar by the time she walked in and shut the door behind her. “Arya? Gods, you’re soaked,” he noted, poking his head in from their bedchamber. “Come get out of those clothes before you catch a chill.”

 

“The storm caught us in the training yard,” she explained, already starting to divest herself of her outermost garments.

 

“I had a feeling it might. I had one of the maids draw a bath for you.”

 

Sure enough, a tub had been brought up and filled with steaming water. It sat near another fire, by which Arya began to hang her clothes as she removed them. Gendry sat at the end of the bed, simply watching. _This could be fun_ , she realized.

 

“How was your day?” She bent over as she said it, slowly unlacing one boot at a time and making sure he had a good view of her backside from where he was sitting. She tossed him a look when he didn’t respond right away and quirked an eyebrow in a way that she hoped would be teasing.

 

“Good,” he said, visibly swallowing.

 

Oh this was almost too easy. Arya switched to the other boot, keeping his attention where she wanted it. “That’s all?”

 

He shrugged his strong shoulders. “I convinced the stable boy I’m not completely terrifying. Nobody else seems to trust me though.”

 

“Give it time,” Arya assured him. “People say more with their actions than their words. Your actions will start speaking for you soon.”

 

She stood up, letting her soaked tunic cling to her wet skin as she started undoing her breeches and sliding them slowly down her legs. When they were finally off she took her time hanging them by the fire. She could feel the linen of her tunic clinging to her every curve and swayed lazily from side to side for good measure.

 

“I could never do this without you,” Gendry said. “You know that, right?”

 

The raw doubt in his voice made her stop in her tracks. Abandoning her scheme for a moment, Arya walked over to where he sat on the bed, standing between his legs and resting her hands on his shoulders. “You could,” she said, running her hands up his neck until she was cradling his face in her hands. “You care for these people more than Robert ever did. You would have figured the rest out with or without me.”

 

He seemed to search her eyes for some hint of a lie, but Arya knew he wouldn’t find one. He hadn’t been raised for this, but he had seen the worst of society and genuinely wanted to make things better. They both did.

 

Gendry had that look on his face like he was about to say something disgustingly sweet so Arya leaned forward and kissed him before he could. His hands traveled up her sides before coming to rest on her waist as she deepened the kiss, teasing his lips apart. She could feel the warmth of him radiating through her wet clothes.

 

“Your bath is going to get cold,” he murmured when she finally stopped to catch her breath.

 

He was right. She straightened up and reached for the hem of her tunic, yanking it over her head and turning around to walk back towards the fire. “Wash my hair?”

 

He knew by now that it was invitation to join her and she was glad to see him pulling his own clothes off when she turned around and began removing what remained if her undergarments. There was a hunger in his eyes when she finally stood naked before him that made her stomach swoop. She used to think it was nerves, but they had outgrown feeling embarrassed around each other long ago. No, this feeling was _wanting._

 

He crawled in first and let her settle in front of him, leaning against his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. From where they sat they could see the first bolts of lightning pierce the sky, sending shocks of purple light across the sky. “I used to hate storms,” Gendry mused, tracing a single finger up her thigh.”

 

“We spent enough nights thinking we’d catch our deaths in one. No roof over our heads, no fire to sit next to, no hot bath waiting for us… I can’t say I blame you.”

 

“Even after,” he said, and she knew ‘after’ meant after they had been separated. “The rain didn’t bother me in the forge, I just couldn’t look at the clouds.”

 

“The clouds?”

 

His finger found its way over her hip as he hummed in the affirmative. “They were always the same color as your eyes.”

 

She bit back her scathing response and pushed down the urge to reveal that she had sometimes had trouble looking at the sea on sunny days for the same reason. Another bolt of lightning flashed against the sky, sending out a great rumble of thunder in its wake and pulling Arya from her momentary reverie. “My eyes don’t have that,” she remarked, pointing towards the window.

 

Gendry swept her hair over her shoulder and kissed her neck, letting his finger trace higher and higher. “Sometimes they do,” he murmured, breath ghosting over her skin. “Right before you win a fight,” his hand switched course and began travelling down again, delicious and torturous all at once, “or when you’re about to tell some fat old lord off for being an idiot.”

 

She could feel the tips of his fingers rubbing lazy circles on her hip, slowly winding closer and closer to where she wanted them. “And right before you make me lose my mind and shout your name,” he whispered, just barely brushing against the apex of her thighs. “You get a flash of something beautiful and dangerous in your eyes then.”

 

And with that, he finally began to touch her in earnest. His calloused fingers circled her clit, making Arya toss her head back as her husband reached his other hand around to tease one nipple, then the other. All the while he kept kissing her cheek, her neck, her shoulder.

 

By the time he slipped a finger between her folds she was boneless against him, head tossed back against his shoulder and eyes closed against the waves of pleasure. “Mmmm. I should let you wax poetic more often,” she sighed, grinding against his hand when he refused to speed up.

 

“You should hold still,” he growled, grabbing her hip with his free hand and stilling her. She could feel his cock growing harder behind her, brushing against her skin as if to remind her what she had to look forward to. She had half a mind to turn around and straddle him right there in the tub but before she could act on it, he slipped a second finger between her thighs, making Arya groan.

 

“Fuck,” she whimpered, eyes closing once again as the pleasure increased tenfold.

 

“Much better,” Gendry said, letting the hand that had been holding her still return to her breast and begin teasing her nipple.

 

He worked his fingers into her, testing her limits, gauging her reactions, and kissing her exposed skin the whole time. Thunder crashed outside as he picked his pace up, drowning out the undignified moan that echoed through the chamber.

 

“Gendry…”

 

He hummed, lips still resting on a patch of skin just beneath her ear and sending the sound vibrating through her like the thunder outside. “What do you need, love?”

 

He needn’t have asked. As he said the words his thumb came to circle her clit and push her over the edge. She went crying out, voice echoing against the flagstones as the feeling that had built up inside her released like a bowstring.

 

For a moment she felt as though she were floating, flying even. Her vision went white with pleasure as her body quivered. When she came crashing back down, Gendry was there helping her through it and kissing her neck.

 

She tried to focus on him — she comforting smell of him, the sound of his slightly labored breathing, the pleasant feel of his stubble and his lips on her skin, the silky tip of his cock pressed against her back…

 

They needed to get out of this tub. Arya needed him and she wanted him on the bed. She didn’t want any constraints.

 

“Come to bed with me,” she mumbled, trying to disentangle herself from him and stand.

 

Gendry only tightened his grip. “I thought you needed someone to wash your hair.”

 

So he did. He worked the soap up to a thick lather and began washing her with it. His hands ran over every inch of her, massaging the suds into her skin as they went. When he was done, he washed her hair gently, soothing her scalp and neck with his fingertips until she was relaxed against his sturdy frame.

 

When she could sense that he was done she reached for the soap, intent on returning the favor, only for his hand to still hers. “Leave it. Dry yourself off and get in bed. I’ll be there in a moment.” He punctuated the command with a kiss to her cheek and released her from the confines of his arms.

 

Arya did as he said, rising out of the tub and enjoying the way his eyes watched the rivulets of water trace her body. She would kill him if he ordered her around like this anywhere else, but behind closed doors she was willing to comply. She knew by now that the reward was well worth it.

 

Gendry gave himself an idle scrub down as he watched her dry herself off and comb her hair. When she was done she walked over to the bed, reclining on the pillows and watching him rise from the water. He had barely taken the time to wick the water off his body before he was standing at the foot of the bed.

 

Nearly five years they’d been doing this and he still looked at her the same as he had that first night. There was an undeniable hunger in his gaze, but it was second to the wonder. It was almost as if he were confused as to why she would be there, naked in front of him and asking for more. She’d never admit it, but it made Arya feel a little giddy every time.

 

The storm outside was still raging, but the lightning couldn’t match the feeling that coursed between them. She half expected to feel a shock when he reached out and let his hand travel up her shin. There was no shock, but his touch still raised little bumps on her skin everywhere it went. Soon he was following the path of his hand with his mouth, kissing his way up her body.

 

He paid special attention to her scars, kissing each one in turn as he came to them. She had far more than he did and it sometimes made her feel ugly. When he did this though, she treasured each pale mark on her skin. She ran her fingers through Gendry’s hair as he kissed the deep marks on her stomach, the ones she cursed the most.

 

Gendry wanted children, even if he wouldn’t say so, and she worried sometimes that his dream had already been snatched away through no fault of his own. She tried to push the thought from her mind as he kissed his way up her chest through the valley between her breasts. When his hand had finished running through her hair, he rested it next to her head, using it to support his weight as he leaned in to kiss her lips.

 

When they were children they had learned to speak the language of one another’s faces. They could convey all they needed to with smiles and eye rolls and pointed glances. Kissing, however, had been a surprise to Arya. She hadn’t known that lips could say so much without ever uttering a word. This they had learned too — the language of each other’s lips. There were the soft, sweet, affectionate kisses they stole when they thought nobody was looking, the long, indulgent kisses that made promises for their bodies to keep, the desperate breathless kisses that sometimes toed the line between seductive and violent, and the rare ones that started out as the first kind and slowly became the last.

 

This was one of those kisses. He pressed his lips to hers for a moment before withdrawing and resting his forehead against hers This, she had learned, meant _I love you_ . She meant to say it back but when her lips met his, he leaned into her and let it stretch out before coaxing her lips apart and letting his tongue seek out hers. Arya knew that this kiss meant _you’re beautiful_.

 

Now when he pulled away they were both gasping for air. She could feel the heat radiating off his naked body, feel his erection resting against her stomach. Even without it, his next kiss would have told her what his body was already saying. If his body was warm, this kiss was scorching, searing, completely aflame. She let her fingers tangle in his thick hair as he nipped at her bottom lip then soothed it with another kiss. This kiss, Arya knew, meant _I want you_.

 

One of his hands skimmed down her side, over her hip and her thigh, to hitch her knee over his hip just as he thrust inside of her. Arya closed her eyes to savor the sweet familiar feeling of him filling her. She couldn’t help arching up into his body as he withdrew slowly before thrusting back into her.

 

Gendry kissed her deeply as he picked up the pace, fanning the flames of the sweet release building in her core. “More,” she panted, clawing at his shoulders. “Gendry, I want..”

 

He hiked her leg up higher, burying his face in her neck as he gave a hard thrust. “That?” He was chuckling, she realized, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

 

“Yes,” she gasped as he repeated the motion, making her see stars. “Ah! Right there..”

 

One, two, three more strokes and she was falling apart again, nails sinking into his back as her inner walls tightened around his cock, sending him tumbling over the edge with her.

 

“Arya…” It sounded like a prayer spilling off his lips as he spilled himself inside of her.

 

This, she thought, was what love was meant to be. It was her husband’s strong fingers digging into her thigh, her body humming with pleasure, their ragged breaths intermingling as they rested their foreheads against each other. Love was the perfect storm that brewed between them while lightning flashed outside their window.

 

It made her feel more alive than looking death in the eye ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Was it terrible or am I doing alright? Let me know!


	11. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter requested by Anonymous on tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place between chapters 4 and 5.

Gendry was being...protective. 

 

Arya told herself that a hundred times a day. He was just being protective when he insisted on walking her down the stairs, or when he badgered her about eating more at supper, or when he tried to convince her to skip meetings to lie down and rest. He was just being protective of her and the little one growing inside her. And he had every right, she figured. She wasn’t exactly known for sitting still and it was  _ his _ child too.

 

Still, his protective instincts had been in overdrive since he had first found out about the little one and Arya’s patience had been eroding. 

 

“If you keep treating me like I’m fucking made of glass,” she had snapped at him a few days ago, “I’ll cut that lovely cock of yours off and spare us both the trouble of doing this again.”

 

That seemed to put him in his place, but he still hovered more often than not. Even as she sat in their solar, quietly penning a letter to Brienne, he was loitering about. He pretended to be reading of course, but she could feel his eyes on her every few moments.

 

She was on the brink of banishing him to the forge when  _ something _ made her gasp. She searched her mind, but didn’t have a word for the sensation. Fluttering, perhaps? A sort of fluttering low in her belly.

 

Gendry was running to her side in an instant, concern drawing deep lines on his face. “Arya! What is it? Are you hurt?”

 

“I…” Arya honestly didn’t know what to tell him. She almost thought she had imagined the sensation, but there it was again. She laid a hand against her abdomen, soothing the spot where she had felt the little fluttering, stronger now.

 

“What’s wrong? Arya, tell me what’s happening,” he pleaded. 

 

“I don’t know,” she said, which only seemed to make him more anxious. “Nothing, I think.”

 

Perhaps this was what the maester had warned her about when he had first confirmed her suspicions. Quickening, he had called it. Their child was moving inside of her. 

 

“She’s moving…” Arya whispered in wonderment. “I think I felt her move.”

 

Gendry’s face immediately softened. “Are you certain?” 

 

She hated it, but Arya could feel tears stinging the backs of her eyes as she shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted. 

 

She had never done this before. In truth, she had no idea what she was feeling. All she could say for certain was that she had felt it and it terrified and overjoyed her. 

 

Until now the child in her belly had been a somewhat abstract concept. Even as it had stretched her stomach and made her sick, she hadn’t been able to think of it as another living thing. This feeling was real though. 

 

And she wasn’t even sure what “it” was.

 

Arya tried to blink back her tears but it was no use. Soon they were spilling over, leaving tracks on her cheeks. “I don’t know,” she repeated, frustration getting the better of her.

 

Poor Gendry didn’t seem to know what to do, but was clearly intent on doing  _ something. _ He eventually settled on wrapping her up in his arms and stroking her hair. “It’s alright, love. Do you want the maester?”

 

Arya closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar smell of him. He had been her comfort, her safety for so long that she had almost forgotten this helpless, lonely feeling. “I want my mother,” she finally admitted as another tear worked its way free.

 

Arya missed her family every day, especially her father and brothers, but lately she had missed her mother more and more. She knew that Catelyn never would have approved of Arya wielding weapons and wearing breeches, but she liked to think that her mother would have been pleased to see her finding balance between being a woman and being a warrior. 

 

For what felt like the thousandth time, Arya cursed her younger self. If she had know their days together were numbered, she would have asked her mother about things such as this. Catelyn Stark had brought five healthy children into the world -- surely she would have known what Arya was experiencing.

 

Gendry held her tighter as she tried to push back the tears. They had been so quick to flow lately and Arya hated feeling so out of control of her emotions, even when the maester and the older women around the castle assured her it was normal. Arya didn’t think she even knew what normal was anymore. 

 

All she knew was that she seemed to walk a blade-thin line between pain and joy, and sometimes the line disappeared completely. Sometimes the pain cut so deep that she couldn’t help but take joy in every breath she took. Sometimes the joy was so bright and warm that it burned and hurt.

 

The fluttering in her belly returned, stronger still, and something inside her seemed to simply  _ know. _ Even without the maester, even without her mother, she knew. That abstract thing that had been growing inside of her was real.

 

Their child was real, and the wonder of it almost made the hurt disappear.


	12. Stargazing*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anonymous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! This chapter takes place a few years after "Ivory." Cass is 7, Serena is 5, and Rhae is about 2 1/2.

“And then what happened?” Cassie’s big blue eyes were wide open, though she was supposed to be going to sleep. Gendry was meant to have finished their story several minutes ago, but Cass had managed to prolong the bedtime tradition, as usual. Arya cleared her throat from the doorway, giving her husband a pointed look.

 

“And then the lady knight killed the bear with her sword and turned its pelt into a beautiful cloak. The end.”

 

“That’s it?” Cassandra propped herself up on her elbow to shoot her father a disappointed look. 

 

From his other side Serena chimed in with her own complaints. “What about the mysterious traveller? What happened to him?”

 

“No more bear,” Rhaelle muttered from his lap.

 

“That’s right, no more bear,” Gendry confirmed. “And I will tell you all about the mysterious traveller tomorrow night. For now, it’s time to sleep.”

 

Serena looked as though she was going to protest, but was forced to admit defeat when a large yawn overtook her. “Tomorrow,” she repeated, grey eyes blinking away the sleep that had started to creep in. 

 

“Goodnight Papa,” Cass mumbled, pulling the covers up to her chin as she settled into her bed. “I love you.” 

 

“I love you too, little wolf. More than the sun,” he kissed the crown of their eldest daughter’s head, “and the moon,” he dropped a kiss atop Serena’s russet hair, “and all the stars in  the sky,” he finished with a kiss to Rhae’s temple. 

 

“Goodnight Mama,” Cass called as Gendry settled Rhaelle into her little bed and blew out the candles. 

 

“Goodnight girls. Sweet dreams.”

 

When all three girls were settled in Gendry followed her out into the corridor, taking her hand as they walked together.

 

“What’s that for?” He pointed to the blanket draped over her arm.

 

“The sky is clear tonight. I thought we could go look at the stars.” 

 

Gendry smiled, following her down the stairs to an inconspicuous door that spilled out into the Godswood. Together, by the light of the full moon, they found a patch of grass with an unobstructed view of the sky and laid out the blanket. The summer night was hot and the breeze off the bay was a welcome relief. Arya could smell the sweet scent of the nearby lemon tree wafting through the air. The smell made her mouth water in a way it hadn’t in a long time and Arya was once again thankful that her husband had had the tree brought up from Dorne just before Cassie’s birth. 

 

Grabbing on to a low branch, Arya propelled herself up into the tree. 

 

“What are you doing?” Gendry was standing at the base of it now, watching as she carefully made her way up the thickest branches. 

 

“I want…” she reached out to grab the object of her desire and tug it free, “this.”

 

Coming back down was even easier than getting up and soon Arya was lowering herself to the ground next to her husband. 

 

“You and your lemons,” he chuckled. “Come lay down with me. I already found the Crone’s Lantern.”

 

Gendry reclined on the blanket, turning his gaze back to the stars as Arya sat beside him, pulling out her dagger and slicing her lemon open. “There’s the Sword of the Morning,” she said, pointing to a line of stars in the far corner of the sky before wiping the flat of her blade on the corner of the blanket and sheathing it once more. She picked up one of the lemon slices and popped it in her mouth, sucking the juices out and humming in pleasure at the sour taste. 

 

Gendry turned his head to look at her, grinning. “Good?”

 

Arya nodded, reaching for another. “Just what I wanted.”

 

She wondered how long it would take him to figure out what her craving meant, but didn’t reveal anything yet.

 

“You must be the only person I’ve ever met who eats them raw,” he noted, still not quite catching on.

 

“Not always,” Arya reminded him.

 

“No, only when you’re…” 

 

_ Now he’s got it _ , Arya thought as Gendry sat bolt upright.

 

“Swear to me this isn’t a trick,” he said, voice full of seriousness. 

 

“It’s not a trick,” she grinned. “I swear it.”

 

“Arya…” his voice was barely a whisper. 

 

“Are you happy?” She searched his frozen expression, trying to figure out the answer. What if he didn’t want another child? They hadn’t discussed it, it just sort of...happened. What if — 

 

Her train of thought was cut off when he leaned forward and kissed her deeply. Arya steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder until he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

 

“Is that a yes?”

 

“Yes,” he murmured before raining kisses down all over her face and making her laugh. When he was done, he bent lower to press a kiss to her stomach. It was still flat for now, but soon the little one would start to make its presence known.

 

“There’s something else,” she admitted, turning his adoring gaze into a worried one. 

 

“Is something wrong?”

 

Arya shook her head, trying to assuage his fears. “No, I just feel...different this time.”

 

“Different?” She was doing a terrible job of calming him down.

 

“Fine! Better than last time, actually,” she assured him. “I just think this one might be a boy.” 

 

“A boy?” She had thought the information would have made him more excited, but Gendry still sounded worried.

 

“What’s wrong? I thought you would be happy,” Arya said. “You’re happy, aren’t you?”

 

“Of course I am. I just…a boy? Are you sure?”

 

Arya rolled her eyes. “Well, there’s really no way to know until he gets here, but I haven’t been wrong yet.”

 

It was true. She had correctly predicted the gender of all three of their daughters, though she didn’t have the words to describe how she had known. She simply...knew.

 

“I don’t know how to raise a son,” he whispered. “Nobody ever taught me.”

 

“Nobody ever taught you how to raise a daughter either,” she reminded him. “You’re not Robert. You never will be. We’ll figure it out together, alright?”

 

Gendry leaned in to kiss her again, deeper this time, pulling her down on top of him as he fell back onto the blanket. Arya settled into him willingly, placing one hand against the ground to keep from putting all her weight against him as he cradled her head. “I love you,” he whispered when she pulled back to catch her breath. 

 

Arya lifted her skirt to swing her leg over his hip. “Show me.”

 

“Arya…” he sounded like he meant to dissuade her but she could feel his cock twitch through his thin breeches. 

 

“There’s nobody around,” she assured him, rolling her hips in a way she knew drove him crazy. 

 

Apparently that was all it took to weaken his resolve. He pulled her back down, kissing her with a renewed hunger that made Arya moan into his mouth. Arya raised her hips up just enough to slip a hand between the two of them and tug at the laces on his breeches. She got them just loose enough to slip a hand inside and stroke the silky skin of his cock until he was the one moaning. 

 

Patience had never been Arya’s greatest strength, certainly not when it came to this. She couldn’t help the smug smile that graced her lips when she slid his tip along her slick opening, making his eyes fly open in surprise.

 

“It’s hot,” she shrugged. “Why wear more layers?” 

 

If he had been surprised by her lack of undergarments, it soon turned to appreciation when Arya lifted her hips a bit, then sheathed him fully inside her. She gave her hips another roll, savoring the feeling of being stretched and filled so perfectly. Sometimes Arya wondered if the gods themselves had designed him for her. They fit together so perfectly, it was as if they were two pieces of a divine puzzle, made to be complementary in all things -- especially this.

 

Gendry didn’t stop kissing her but let his hands travel lower on her body until they bracketed her hips, guiding her movements. 

 

“Arya, gods…” he panted.

 

Arya grinned, straightening up and bracing her hands on his chest as she began to move in earnest, swiveling her hips in a way that made him thrust up into her blindly. 

 

“Mmmm...that’s good,” she hummed, then gasped as he found a new angle. “Ah! Right there!”

 

He repeated the motion one, two, three more times and soon they fell into a steady rhythm with each other. Arya bit back a moan as pleasure coiled low in her abdomen, grateful for the rustling leaves and crashing waves that drowned out the tell-tale sounds of body meeting body. She fought her release for just a bit longer, tossing her head back and staring at the star-speckled sky above her until the moon burst apart in a flash of white.

 

She was vaguely aware of her hands fisting around the fabric of Gendry’s tunic as the rest of the world disappeared, drowned out by the waves of pleasure that originated from the point where their two bodies became one. She was quivering around his cock, pulling pleasure from both of them until she came crashing back down to reality just in time too feel him pulsate inside of her. She kissed him hard, catching the desperate sound of his release between her teeth. Gods, he was perfect like this -- breathless and satisfied.

 

Even in the meager light of the moon she was able to make out the unmistakable adoration in his gaze when he opened his eyes. “Gods, that never gets old, does it?”

 

Arya chuckled, running her fingers through his already unruly hair. “Well, we’re quite good at it.”

 

“We’ve had a lot of practice,” he agreed. “Enough to make three perfect children.”

 

“Four,” she reminded him. 

 

“Four,” he agreed happily, leaning up to place a grateful kiss to her stomach, then her lips. “Shall we go practice a bit more in our chambers, milady?”

 

Arya gave one last glance to the stars above before nodding her head. “I’d like that very much, milord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Is the smut getting any better? I'm still not super confident with it, but I wanted to try. Let me know!


	13. Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by ofitzsimmons on tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're just not going to talk about last night's episode, yeah? This chapter takes place about a year after Cassie is born.

Sunlight splashed warmly over Arya’s face, drawing her quietly from a deep sleep. She stretched her limbs, unsurprised to find them tangled up with her husband's. Last night’s storm had brought a chill with it and he had never been one for the cold. She pried one eye open, just enough to scan the room. 

 

It was still early, though the sun had started rising earlier and earlier, making it feel as though she were behind schedule. “Not yet,” Gendry mumbled, pulling her closer to his body. Sometimes Arya swore he could hear her thoughts.

 

“We have a long day ahead,” she reminded him, fingertips running over his stubbly cheek.

 

“All the more reason to stay in bed a little longer.”

 

She couldn’t argue with that logic. Grinning, she snuggled in closer to his strong chest, inhaling the familiar smell of him as she resolved to savor a few more quiet minutes of bliss.

 

* * *

  
  


“You’re fidgeting.”

 

Arya shot her husband a glare. “I am  _ not _ .”

 

“That’s the third time you’ve fixed your dress in as many minutes. You’re fidgeting.”

 

“I’m bored,” she insisted. “This is taking ages.”

 

A squire had been sent to warn them about the approaching visitors nearly half an hour ago. Now, as they stood in the springtime sun awaiting their guests, Arya wondered exactly how far off the party had been when they were spotted. Next time she would ask.

 

Cass squirmed in Gendry’s arms, just as impatient as her mother. She had taken her first few shaky steps the night before and Arya knew that they would be out of their minds trying to keep track of her once she got her footing. So, of course, it was all she wanted to do now.

 

A commotion drew her back to the present and Arya looked up at the noise. The gates were slowly being pulled open, allowing a few bannermen on horseback to spill through. They were followed by a wheelhouse and another cluster of riders that Arya didn’t wait to see the end of. It was jarringly similar to the arrival of a different retinue to a different castle, but that had been a lifetime ago.

 

When the wheelhouse rolled to a stop, a young knight from the front of the entourage appeared to help the queen down, offering his arm for her to rest her pale hand upon. Her gown swept across the wooden steps as she descended, supporting the little bundle that must have been her son with her left arm and miraculously managing to not trip on her skirt. When she was firmly on the ground, the turned around to offer her own hand to the little girl standing at the top of the steps. 

 

She had been no bigger than her brother last time Arya saw her, now she toddled forward on her own two feet. Her dark hair had grown to her chin and Arya could already see her mother’s beauty starting to peek through on the little girl’s face. All she could tell of the little boy in the queen’s arms was that he had his mother’s distinctive hair. 

 

And then there was the queen herself, standing with perfect poise and looking as regal as ever, despite her long journey. Not a single strand of hair was out of place amongst her braids and her skirt didn’t have a single wrinkle. Arya smoothed her own skirt again, suddenly self-conscious. 

 

She ducked her head. “Your Grace.” 

 

“Lady Stark,” the queen gave Arya a curt nod, then another to Gendry. “Lord Baratheon.”

 

Gendry made to welcome her to Storm’s End, but Arya was already surging forward to throw her arms around her sister.

 

“It’s been too long.” Sansa said, hugging her back as best she could with a baby between them. Arya couldn’t help but notice the irony of her statement. They had grown up seperately, torn apart by a wicked game they’d never meant to play, and now two years had become an unbearable separation.

 

“Long enough,” Arya agreed before turning her attention to her nephew. “He has your hair.”

 

“She has Gendry’s,” Sansa pointed out, nodding to where Cassandra was struggling to escape her father’s grasp. 

 

“His eyes too,” Arya told her. “She’s a Stark on the inside though.”

 

“Don’t let her forget it.” It was meant to be lighthearted, but something solemn had crept its way into Sansa’s tone.

 

“Never,” Arya promised. “Now, come inside, you must be exhausted.” 

 

Sansa reached down to hold Catelyn’s hand as they made their way towards the doors. Gendry followed along behind them at a distance, letting the sisters catch up on their own for a while. Cass had stopped trying to wriggle out of his grasp for the moment, though Arya knew it wouldn’t last.

 

Arya glanced over at her sister. “Where’s that husband of yours? Get cold feet?”

 

“He’ll catch up,” Sansa said. “He likes to ride in the back of the group. Says it’s to keep the men in line, but I think he just likes to be able to keep an eye on the wheelhouse.”

 

“Did he bring a sword?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Good,” Arya said, leading Sansa up the stairs and towards the rooms she had prepared for her. “I desperately need a fight.”

 

“You might consider greeting one another like civilized people once in a while.”

 

Arya pretended to think about it as they followed the curve of the corridor that led to the rooms she’d prepared for Sansa and her family. “No, I don’t think we will. Here, these will be your chambers while you’re visiting.” 

 

A young woman with a round face and long brown hair stood outside the door, waiting just as Arya had asked. “I know you like to do things for yourself,” Arya said to her sister, “but I wanted you to have help if you need it. This is Brenna.She and Iris will look after you while you’re here. They can bring you food, watch Robb and Cat for you, help you find your way around the castle, whatever you need. Brenna is wonderful with babies. Cassie adores her.”

 

The maid blushed at Arya’s praise, although it was well-deserved. 

 

“Could you possibly run a small errand for me, Brenna? Catelyn can’t sleep without her favorite blanket, and I seem to have left it in the wheelhouse,” Sansa told the younger woman.

 

“I’ll fetch it right away, your grace.” With a curtsey to each of them she was off to fetch Cat’s blanket, feet falling softly on the steps as she retreated.

 

“I can hardly believe it. My sister, the Lady of Storm’s End,” Sansa mused. “If only mother could see you now.”

 

“She’d die of embarrassment,” Arya laughed. “I may look the part now, but it’s only for your benefit. I still wear breeches most days, I curse in front of the other lords and ladies, and I spend as much time in the training yard as I do in council meetings.”

 

“She’d be happy for you,” Sansa said, smiling somewhat sadly. “I’ll see you at supper?”

 

“Of course.” She kissed Robb’s little copper head and waved goodbye to Cat before joining Gendry on the landing of the stairs.

 

“She seems happy,” he said, falling into step with her as they continued up the stairs towards their own chambers. 

 

“I think she is.” Arya pushed open the door to their solar and followed him in. “She got everything she ever wanted, just not in the way she expected.”

 

“And you?”

 

“What about me?”

 

“Did you get what you wanted?”

 

Arya considered it for a moment. “No. If I had gotten what I wanted when I was a little girl I’d probably be dead ten times over. What I got is better.”

 

Gendry seemed to consider that as he set Cassie down to let her play. “Are you happy? Be honest, Arya.”

 

“We said we’d never lie to one another,” she reminded him, stepping closer to take his face in her hands. Gods, she loved him so much sometimes it felt like sheer mass of it would crack her ribs open. “So believe me when I say that I am happy here with you, Gendry Baratheon.”

 

He covered her smaller hands with his own, still calloused and rough, but without the soot that she had grown so used to. “Have I told you I love you today?”

 

“No, milord, I don’t believe you have,” Arya teased. 

 

He turned his head to kiss her palm. “How can I beg your forgiveness, milady?”

 

“You can kiss me.”

 

And so he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do let me know your thoughts!


	14. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya is a softie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by fuckingfantasticliv on tumblr. I'm a little tipsy, so I'm sorry in advance for any mistakes.

Arya’s favorite shop still smelled the way it always had. Soaps, perfumes, herbs, and oils lined the shelves on the wall, mingling their scents together in the air. She took a deep breath as the door shut behind her and savored it. She had a bit of a soft spot for the elderly couple that ran the place and knew she had to make their little shop her first destination on this little escapade.

 

It had been nice to ride again, even if she wasn’t back to her usual strength yet. Spring was in full effect now and she had been itching to get out of the castle for a while. Cassie and Serena had lessons all afternoon, Rhaelle and Ned were napping under Brenna’s watchful eye, and Gendry was just downstairs from them if anything were to happen.

 

And so she had dressed for a ride, saddled her mare, and taken a gentle ride into town. Now, as she browsed the shelves along the walls, she wondered if the older couple were in the garden out back. She turned the corner of the tall shelf that stood in the middle of the room and was met with unexpected company.

 

Arya guessed the little girl was about Rhaelle’s age, though that was the only similarity they shared. Where Rhae had her mother’s dark hair and storm grey eyes, this girl’s little face was framed with a halo of honey-colored curls and punctuated with a pair of sable eyes that now stared up at her curiously.

 

Arya looked around for any sign of the child’s parents, but the shop was deserted. “Hello,” she said gently. “I’m Arya. What’s your name?”

 

“Joss,” the little one said, just barely audible.

 

“Is your mother around, Joss? Or maybe your father?”

 

Just as the little girl shook her head, Arya could hear footsteps on the stairs in tha back of the shop.

 

“Jocelyn?” It was the old woman in charge of the shop, Maura. She looked surprised to see Arya there, but mostly relieved to have found her little charge. “Lady Arya, forgive me. I’m not as young as I used to be and this little one is impossible to keep up with.” She picked Jocelyn up to sit on her hip, chiding her for running off.

 

“I know exactly what you mean. My girls get more energetic by the day, it seems.”

 

“How are the little ladies? It feels like an age since you brought them by. They must be halfway grown by now.”

 

“They certainly think so.” Cass had celebrated her eighth name day while Arya had been holed up in the  castle with Ned and been treated to a special dinner in her honor. It was nothing extravagant, but Cass had taken the opportunity to inform her mother that she felt she was old enough now to begin travelling the world and should like to begin by visiting her cousin Robb in Winterfell. She would, of course, ride there on her own and fight off any bandits with her sword. Arya regretted ever telling her about her time on the road as a girl -- she had clearly not taken away the intended message.

 

“And your little boy?” There was a hint of apprehension in her voice and Arya suspected that Maura had taken the lack of news about Ned’s well-being to mean that something was amiss.

 

“He’s wonderful,” Arya assured her. “Didn’t Brenna give you any word about him at all?”

 

“Only that he had been born. Poor thing was in such a frightful rush last time I saw her, it was a wonder she remembered to stop in at all. She didn’t even mention his name.”

 

“Edric,” Arya told her. “Edric Sandor Baratheon Stark.”

 

Sansa had been the one to start the tradition of giving her children a second name to commemorate someone the war had taken from her (and there were so many). Arya and Gendry had adopted it in their own way when Cass was born, though Arya had been wary of using the names of her family back then. These days she found that speaking their names did not pain her quite so much.

 

Still, she knew it was an unconventional naming practice, though less unheard of than letting her children use the names of their mother’s house and father’s. Upon seeing the look of alarm on the older woman’s face at the rambling moniker she added, “we call him Ned, like my father.”

 

“That’s a lovely name, Lady Arya.” Maura grinned at the thought. “How is he?”

 

“Perfectly healthy,” Arya assured her. “And so sweet. He hardly cries.”

 

“Can I offer you a trade? This one’s little brother has hardly stopped his screaming since he got here,” she japed.

 

“Your grandchildren?” It was a guess, though Arya knew the couple had a daughter who had moved to the Riverlands with her husband a year or two before Cass was born.

 

Maura shook her head. “Some poor girl called Letha who rode into town just after we got news about your little one. She was meant to meet her husband here when he got back from sea, but we got news about a fortnight ago that his ship was ravaged by a storm. Only a few men made it out alive and her husband wasn’t one of them.”

 

“That’s horrible,” Arya said, already trying to devise a plan to help the woman. Surely they could find a place for her in the castle? They kept a small household, but with four children they could surely use a little more help now…

 

“I’m afraid it gets worse,” Maura sighed. “She died in childbed not a sennight later. Poor dear lived just long enough to give her little boy a name before she bled out.”

 

Arya felt her heart clench at the thought. Her Aunt Lyanna drifted through her mind, followed by half a dozen other women Arya had known before they died on the birthing bed. She remembered the look on Gendry’s face when Cass had been born, whispering ‘not today’ to one another as the pain reached a fever pitch.

 

Spring was supposed to be a season of growth, gain, and renewal. It was a time for new life, not the loss of it. _There was nothing anyone could have done_ , she reminded herself. Still the young woman’s death nagged at her like a burr caught in her clothing.

 

“Deryon and I have been looking after them since she passed,” Maura carried on. “We had the time and the space, but we’re not as young as we used to be and the little boy-”

 

She was cut off by a sharp cry from the upper floor of the shop. Instinct had Arya halfway to the stairs by the time she remembered her manners. The upstairs rooms were private and she hadn’t been invited up.

 

“Bubber?” Jocelyn turned her face towards the ceiling, searching for the source of the noise.

 

“Yes,” Maura sighed again. “It seems your brother is awake again.”

 

“Perhaps I could be of help?”

 

Maura seemed to consider Arya’s offer for a few moments before deciding it was genuine. “You’re welcome to try.”

 

Arya followed her up the stairs to a small room where her husband was crouched over a cradle, trying to coax the little one inside back to sleep. His cries had died down from full on screams to little whimpers that made Arya’s heart ache.

 

 _The poor pup has lost nearly his entire pack_ , she thought to herself.

 

“Lady Arya, what a surprise!” Deryon looked just as exhausted as Maura, though he didn’t hide it as well. “Please, forgive the mess.”

 

“I have four children at home. I can assure you I’m no stranger to messes,” Arya chuckled, leaning over the cradle to look at the little one inside. He seemed small— at least, smaller than Ned had been just two moons ago when he was about the same age. What little hair he had was nearly translucent against his skin and his face was red from crying. Arya bent over to cradle him in her arms, holding the little boy close to her chest. “Hello, love. You’re missing your mama aren’t you?”

 

“She called him Orryn,” Maura provided, sadness tinting her voice.

 

“Orryn. You’ve had a rough go of it, haven’t you? I’d cry too.” Arya swayed back and forth, swiping the pad of her thumb over his brow in slow arcs. Slowly, his breathing evened out as his crying stopped.

 

“You’re a miracle worker, I swear it.” Maura had a look of pure shock on her face. “I’ve never seen him settle down so quick!”

 

“I used to rock Cassie to sleep like this,” Arya told her. She kept swaying, soothing Orryn’s forehead with her fingertip until his eyelids started to droop. “Is there nowhere else they can go? No family who would take them?”

 

Deryon shook his head, though Maura was the one to speak up. “Letha said her husband was all she had. They were going to start over here…”

 

Arya nodded solemnly. “I see. It was very kind of you to take on caring for these two after she passed, but it doesn’t have to be your responsibility,” she said, trying to be as gentle as possible. It was an admirable thing they had done, but she could tell the situation was simply not sustainable. They had already raised children of their own, and now they were all grown and gone. They deserved to rest and have time to visit those children.

 

She watched as the two of them exchanged conflicted glances. “We just wanted them to be seen to proper, is all,” Maura sighed. “It’d break my heart to see them sent away.”

 

“Even to Storm’s End?”

 

Maura’s brow furrowed at the implication. “You don’t mean to take them with you, surely?”

 

“Not without your consent, but I do think they could be happy there. Jocelyn would have other little girls to play with and Orryn could be tended day and night if need be. If they have any family left at all, I swear I will do whatever it takes to find them and see them reunited. But if they’re as alone as you say, I would see them fed, clothed, housed, and educated the same as my own children.”

 

When she glanced up from Orryn’s little face, Arya was surprised to see tears welling up in Maura’s eyes. “Oh Lady Arya, you are…”

 

“Well and truly mad?” It was a jape, but Arya had hoped it would stave off whatever affectionate praise was about to come out of the older woman’s mouth. It did not.

 

“So very kind,” Maura finished. “And possibly a bit mad too.”

  


* * *

 

 

It took much longer to get back to the castle than it normally would have, but Arya thought she made good time considering she had to walk the whole way. Maura had helped her strap Orryn to her chest with a long bolt of fabric before she left, freeing up her hands a bit. Jocelyn sat on the back of the steadfast little mare Arya had ridden in on, clinging to the saddle as her little feet swung high above the ground. Arya didn’t dare try to ride with both of them, so she was left to lead the horse home by the reins.

 

There was a commotion as she approached the gate, and she was surprised to see Gendry already waiting for her as she entered the keep. “You didn’t have to come and greet me,” she said casually, stopping her horse and giving it a little pat on the neck for good measure.

 

“Arya…”

 

“I suppose you probably have a few questions.”

 

“A _few_?”

 

Arya helped Jocelyn down and introduced her to Gendry, though the little girl seemed more interested in hiding behind her leg than making friends. She handed her horse’s reins off to a stable boy and began explaining the situation. By the time they had reached the landing nearest their daughters’ rooms Gendry had heard the whole story.

 

“I’ll have their mother’s things brought here to see if we can’t find any clues that would lead us to some relatives, but if they truly have nowhere else to go…”

 

Gendry reached out, capturing her free hand with his own and intertwining their fingers. “Of course they’ll stay here.”

 

“I didn’t mean to surprise you like this.”

 

Much to her surprise, Gendry just laughed then leaned forward to drop a kiss to her forehead. “I like surprises. Besides, we’re already in over our heads, what’s a bit more chaos?”

 

“That’s the spirit! Now, let’s go find Brenna and see about getting these two settled in, shall we?”

 

Gendry pressed a quick kiss to the back of her hand and followed her down the corridor. “Lead the way, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! I love hearing from you guys!


	15. Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by greeneyedwildthing on tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another time jump! For reference: Cass is 11, Serena is 9, Rhae is 6, Joss is 5, Ned and Orryn are 3, Jo and Gal are 14, and Endrew is 10/almost 11.

“I see it!” Cassandra pointed excitedly towards the horizon, where a vast green isle had begun to emerge. The wind off the sea tugged at her thick hair, pulling a few strands loose from her braid and blowing them in her face. Cass pushed the black tendrils away, keeping her eyes fixed on the jagged shores of their destination.

 

“Well spotted, my lady,” Davos said, though Arya knew he had seen the shores of Tarth long before Cass had pointed them out.

 

“How much longer until we’re there?”

 

“A few hours,” the Onion knight informed her. “We’ll get as close as we can, then take a smaller boat to the shore. After that, we’ll have to ride for a bit before we reach Evenfall Hall.”

 

“Endrew said the castle was built right next to the water,” Cassie recounted. “Can’t we sail the boat right up next to it?”

 

Arya was about to tell her that the cliffs were too steep and the waters too shallow for that when Serena spoke up in her gentle little voice. “It’s not safe,” she explained, looking to Davos for confirmation. “The water isn’t deep enough and we couldn’t scale the cliffs. We have to approach from the side.”

 

“Right you are, my lady. You’ve been paying close attention.”

 

Serena grinned at the praise, then returned to the book that lay open in her lap. Arya walked over to where Davos and Cass stood, balancing Jocelyn on her hip while holding tight to Rhae’s hand. The sea that stretched before them was relatively calm, with waters that were every bit as blue as Brienne had always claimed. They were, she thought to herself, the exact color of Gendry’s eyes, and Cassie’s, and Ned’s.

 

After a moment of silent thought, Cassie spoke up again. “Will Endrew be the Lord of Tarth one day?” There was an inexplicable sadness in the way she asked the question and it made Arya’s instincts bristle.

 

“No, probably not,” Arya told her. “Joanna is the eldest, so she’ll rule.”

 

Arya just had time to notice the look of relief on Cassandra’s face before Gendry appeared from below deck.

 

“Finally get those boys to sleep, lad?” Davos smirked while Gendry let out a long sigh.

 

“Finally, although they’d rather be up here trying to toss themselves into the sea,” Gendry sighed, running a hand through his hair. He had cropped it short again and shaved his beard to keep the summer heat from clinging to his face and still wasn’t used to the feel of the short fuzz against his fingers. “Brenna will look after them until they wake.”

 

Arya watched as he dropped a kiss atop Serena’s head before joining her at the bow and lifting Rhaelle up to see what all the fuss was about. “We sealed our fates as soon as they outnumbered us,” she reminded him.

 

He grinned to himself, then leaned down to give her a gentle kiss and Arya knew it meant that he didn’t regret a single thing.

 

“Ugh. Disgusting,” Cassie groaned, covering her eyes with her hands. “Tell me when it’s over.”

 

“Stop being stupid,” Serena scolded her. “Someday when you’re in love I’m going to make a fuss like you do and see what you think then.”

 

Gendry was shaking his head before she had even finished her sentence. “I should have bloody well stayed below decks.”

 

“Not ready to think about your little lady finding herself some other lord to wrap around her finger?” Davos chuckled as he said it but Gendry had paled enough that Arya could see the change in color on his face.

 

“Not in the slightest.”

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was on the brink of sinking below the water by the time they arrived at the gates of Evenfall Hall. Arya’s heart swelled to see Brienne positioned as the head of her house as they rode in. It suited her, she thought, and Arya was glad to be returning to the home of the Lady Knight of Tarth for the first time in several years. She had meant to extend Brienne the courtesy of a proper arrival, if only to remind the men standing behind her that House Tarth had the respect of the Lord and Lady of Storm’s End.

 

That plan was thrown out the window as soon as Cassie’s horse came to a stop. A stable boy had barely had time to grab her mare’s reins before Arya’s eldest was dismounting with the grace of a practiced horsewoman and sprinting across the yard to tackle Endrew to the ground in her excitement. Their hair flashed black and gold, blurring together as they rolled across the dirt like a pair of puppies, already both talking a mile a minute before their momentum had run out.

 

With a long sigh, Arya dismounted as well. Orryn had ridden with her from the docks, chattering away about all he saw as they went. Now Arya helped him down to the ground as Brenna, Davos, and Gendry helped the other little ones off their respective mounts. Serena, a proper lady in such situations as these, had thanked the boy that took her horse’s reins, allowed a squire to help her dismount gracefully, and come to stand at her mother’s side to greet their hosts.

 

“Lord Gendry, Lady Arya,” Brienne greeted them with a hint of a smirk on her face. “Welcome back to Evenfall Hall.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning they all broke their fast together before riding out into the rolling hills and finding a good spot to let the children run free. Brienne found a good vantage point and Arya helped her spread a blanket there. When they had settled on the ground Arya scanned the hillside for her little pack.

 

Serena was a short way away from them, settled on her own blanket with Davos and Ned, reading aloud from a book while Orryn chased Brenna through the tall grass. Gendry was a bit further away, sitting on a rock as he showed Joanna and Jocelyn how to weave the wildflowers around them into little pink and white crowns. Cass was at the base of the hill, wooden sword in her hand, watching as Jaime and Gallina demonstrated a disarming technique that Arya hadn’t shown her yet. As always, Endrew stood beside her with his own practice sword. Arya realized with a start that they made a rather striking pair.

 

“You look quite pensive, my lady,” Brienne noted. She followed Arya’s gaze with her own until it fell on Endrew, who had just whispered something in Cassandra's ear to make her laugh. “Ah, I see.”

 

“When Endrew was born, Davos suggested a marriage contract. He said it would strengthen the Stormlands and it wasn’t as if Cass could marry above her station anyway.” She paused, letting out a chuckle. “It’s the only time I ever saw Gendry lose his temper with him.”

 

“I see his point, but I don’t blame you for ignoring it. It’s not what you would have wanted for yourself, I assume. Why force it on your children?”

 

“Better to let them choose for themselves,” Arya agreed.

 

Down at the base of the hill, Cass and Drew had turned their practice swords on one another. Cass was disarmed first, but didn’t yield. Instead, she rolled between her friend’s feet and kicked them out from under him. Arya couldn’t see what happened next thanks to the tall grass, but the match ended with Cass rising from the ground and offering a hand to Endrew. He stood and offered her sword up with a slight bow.

 

She couldn’t hear them from so far away, but Endrew clearly said something Cassie didn’t like because as soon as he had straightened back up she snatched the practice sword from his grasp and shoved him to the ground again. Arya made to get up and find out what had her daughter so upset but Brienne placed a gentle hand on her arm to stop her.

 

“Ours is the fury indeed,” she chuckled. “It’s alright, he has Jaime’s inability to leave well enough alone. Whatever he said, I’m sure he deserved it.”

 

By the time Endrew had risen once more and brushed himself off all seemed to be forgotten and the two of them began another round.

 

* * *

 

That night, Arya stood in her temporary chambers, considering the conversation she’d had with Brienne as she dressed for supper.

 

“You alright, love?” Gendry finished lacing up her gown and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

 

Arya nodded. “Does the strangeness of it all ever hit you?”

 

“What d’you mean?”

 

“I mean, if I someone had told me when your father arrived at Winterfell that one day I’d be married to the Lord of Storm’s End, mother to six children, and spending my summers visiting my friend the first lady knight in history and her husband Jaime Lannister, I would have laughed in their face.”

 

“Well, when you put it that way, yes.”

 

There was a knock at the door so Arya walked over and opened it up to reveal Cassie, now dressed in a lavender gown instead of her grey breeches. “Will you do my hair? Brenna’s busy and Davos doesn’t know how,” she said, holding out her comb as she said it. “I want it to be fancy.”

 

“I’m going to go see if they need help,” Gendry said, excusing himself.

 

Arya led Cassie over to the vanity in the corner and pulled out the little stool for her.

 

Cass sat and she began working the tangles out of her eldest daughter's hair, starting from the ends. It was a long moment before Arya broke the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

 

Cassandra’s eyes sought hers in the looking glass, as if to reveal her mother’s intentions with a single look. “Of course.”

 

“Yesterday, when you asked me if Endrew would rule Tarth one day, you seemed sad. Why was that?”

 

“I don’t want him to rule Tarth,” she admitted, her voice wavering slightly. “He’ll never have time to come visit me. They’ll make him marry some proper lady and she’ll have a bunch of babies and he’ll stay with them on Tarth and never come see me.”

 

“I see. You’re worried you’ll lose him, is that it?”

 

Cass pursed her lips in thought. “I think so, yes.”

 

“Is that what you were fighting about today?”

 

To her credit, Cassandra’s cheeks did redden in embarrassment at the mention of the little display from that morning. “Not exactly. He kept calling me his lady, even though I told him to stop it. He said it was the _proper_ thing to call me. He never used to care about being proper.”

 

“To be fair, he’s right. You are a lady, and one day you’ll be the Lady if Storm’s End. He would be one of your vassal lords and you _would_ be his lady.”

 

“I’m not anyone’s lady, I’m a wolf. And I don’t want him calling me that,” she added with a huff.

 

Arya sectioned Cassie’s hair off, starting a braid at the crown of her head as she bit her tongue to keep from laughing. “Is that why you shoved him?”

 

“I know I shouldn’t have,” Cass admitted. “He’s my best friend in the world, besides Robb, but he makes me so _angry_ sometimes. Robb never makes me so mad.”

 

Arya grinned to herself but let her daughter go on.

 

“And I know I make him angry too, but I don’t do it on purpose. He just gets upset over stupid things and then when I tell him he’s being stupid, he gets even more angry.”

 

“I used to argue with my best friend when I was your age. He could be so stubborn and blind sometimes I just wanted to shake him. And he got angry with me too. Sometimes it seemed like we were each other’s worst enemies instead of best friends.”

 

Cass looked up, her blue eyes meeting Arya's grey ones in the looking glass. “What did you do?”

 

“Yell at each other mostly. He would never raise a hand to me, but I shoved him over once or twice.” Arya smirked at her daughter in the mirror. “It took me a long time to realize that the things we fought about weren’t the things we were angry about.”

 

“You think Drew is angry about something else?”

 

“Yes, but don’t expect him to know what it is,” she chuckled, finishing the braid she had been working on and tying off the end. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to argue either. Try to compromise with him every now and then, alright?”

 

“I’ll try,” Cassie said, admiring her mother’s handiwork before standing.

 

“Good. Now, go find Rhaelle for me, will you? Your father doesn’t have a prayer of getting her into clean clothes on his own.”

 

Cass was halfway out the door when she paused, turning back to ask one more question. “Wasn’t Papa your best friend when you were my age?”

 

Arya couldn’t fight her smile this time. “He was.”

 

Cassie furrowed her brow, apparently considering that answer, then disappeared into the corridor. Arya watched her go with a small smile still on her lips. _Oh little wolf, one day you’ll know your heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to let me know your thoughts down below!


	16. Eclipse*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA the chapter in which I threw canon out the window and made what should have been a scene of gentle lovemaking into porn. Enjoy.
> 
> Requested by Elfigreen14 and encouraged by jessforthethrone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, if you don't like smut just skip this one. Picks up right after "Breathe."

The wedding feast was a relatively small affair, though not as small as Arya would have liked. It would seem that being a princess twice over made one’s nuptials the event of the season. She had begged Jon and Sansa to keep the affair a small one, but there were only so many people they could cut from the guest list before someone took offense.

 

And so she found the dining hall of Winterfell nearly bursting at the seams when she and her husband entered. _Her husband_...the thought was still so foreign. She gripped Gendry’s hand more tightly in her own as their guests stood, making a path for them to approach the table at the front of the hall. Sansa’s usual spot was vacant, as well as the one next to it. Clearly they were meant for the bride and groom tonight.

 

Acutely aware of the many sets of eyes on her, Arya sat, taking comfort in the fact that Gendry stayed on her right and Sansa sat on her left. She glanced down the line to see Sandor, Bran, Meera, and Lyanna Mormont seated further down the long table. Sansa was swatting one of Sandor’s hands away from the collar of his tunic and Arya was glad that she wasn’t the only uncomfortable one at the table.

 

She turned to get a better look at the other side of the table, grinning when she caught Jon’s eye. Tyrion sat beside him, and Davos next to him. Missandei and Yara took up the last two seats, laughing about something Arya hadn’t heard. In front of her, she could see Brienne standing amongst the crowd, as well as Jaime Lannister and Tormund Giantsbane. There were unfamiliar faces there too, but she felt a little better to see so many friendly ones turned in her direction.

 

Just as the expectant gazes were starting to unnerve her, Sansa stood and addressed the crowd. “On behalf of myself and my brothers, I welcome you all. Occasions such as this are a reminder that though we may come from different places and speak in different tongues, our hearts are all the same. It is on nights such as tonight that we can truly appreciate all that we have fought for.

 

“The road was long and the journey was treacherous, but I could not be more pleased to _finally_ present to you Lord Gendry of the House Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End and Smith of the Long Night, and his wife the Night Wolf, Princess Arya of houses Baratheon and Stark, Princess of the North and the Six Kingdoms, and Lady of Storm’s End. May your joys be many and your sorrows be few from this day until the end of your days.” Sansa raised her goblet and grinned down at her sister. “To the happy couple!”

 

Her sentiment echoed throughout the room, marking the beginning of the feast. “Well I’m not going to try and follow that up,” Jon chuckled as they tucked into their food.

 

It was a simple but delicious meal, just as she had requested. It had barely been a year since the Battle for the Dawn and the fight for King’s Landing, and Arya couldn’t stand the idea of a lavish meal being served at her wedding while the small folk worked long, hard days to keep their children fed. A quick look around the room told her that nobody in the hall was missing the splendor that more prosperous times would have afforded.

 

She wondered how long it would be before she could grab Gendry’s hand and slip away from all these people. Some of them were her family, yes, and many were her friends, but the fact remained that some were near strangers and might insist on a bedding ceremony. The thought made the sweet wine in her mouth turn sour.

 

Gendry gave her hand a reassuring squeeze under the table as he took a sip from his own goblet and swallowed, licking his lips as he leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “How long do you think it’ll take for them to get drunk enough that we can sneak out?”

 

Arya feigned a bit of shock, as if she hadn’t just been thinking the same thing. “ _Husband_ , are you suggesting we sneak away from our own wedding feast?”

 

“That is exactly what I’m proposing, _wife_.”

 

“And deny these fine people the chance to tear our clothes off?”

 

“That’s a lovely dress your sister made you. I’d like the honor of taking it off of you myself.”

 

Arya grinned at that idea. “It is pretty, isn’t it? I’d hate to see all of Sansa’s fine work destroyed. Watch for my signal and we’ll escape through the servants’ door.”

 

Gendry nodded before returning to his food and joining in the conversation Davos and Jon had started. On Arya’s other side, Meera was recounting the details of her first hunt to Lyanna, though everyone else around them had stopped chatting to listen. She was an excellent storyteller and even Sansa seemed wrapped up in the tale. Bran, as usual, watched her with a look of perfect contentment on his face and Arya wondered how long it would be before she called Lady Meera her sister. The heir of Greywater Watch had done the impossible, slowly bringing Brandon Stark back to life one day at a time. It was a act for which Arya could not fathom an appropriate repayment.

 

She tried to follow as many conversations as she could throughout the meal, putting in her own thoughts here and there. By the time the band on the corner started stringing together the first strains of a tune, half the feast’s attendants were teetering in the edge of drunkenness. Soon a few people had begun to trickle towards the back of the space to dance.

 

Arya was perfectly happy to sit and watch them turn and twirl but Gendry had other ideas. “Come dance with me,” he said, standing from his seat and offering his hand. “Everyone’s too drunk to care if were any good.”

 

“Gendry…”

 

The growing crowd around the dance floor applauded as the song ended and the dancers stopped to take a breath or sip from their goblets. “Come on, even you know this one,” he tried again when the first few notes of the River Reel began drifting through the space, warning anyone without a partner to gather their courage and find one. It was one of the oldest dances in Westeros, unchanged for hundreds of years and known to everyone from highest towers of the finest castles to the poorest slums of the most squalid cities. And of course, Arya _did_ know it.

 

“Alright. One dance, and that’s all.” Gendry took her hand and led her down through the crowd. There was a smattering of applause as they joined the couples already lining up on dance floor and Arya was pleased to see that Jon had even convinced Sansa to join in. Her sister had so dearly loved to dance as a girl, and it made Arya smile to see her enjoying it once more.

 

The music began to swell and Gendry held tight to her hand as she stepped out from him and spun under his arm. It had been ages since she had done this but Arya found that the steps returned to her easily and she felt a smile creep across her face as the tempo increased and Gendry spun her across the floor. He pushed and pulled her in time with the music, like the tide coming in and out and laughed at the way her hair fanned out around her. By the time the music died out she was grinning in truth and flushed in a way that made her feel pleasantly warm.

 

There was another round of applause and Gendry pulled her close while the dancers around them took a bow. When he leaned in close to kiss her, there were a few whistles and jeers but Arya ignored them. It was her wedding night and she could enjoy a brief kiss from her husband if she wanted. When he pulled away, she caught Davos grinning at them and shot him a smile. He gave her a quick wink and turned to face the window.

 

“Look! Everyone come quickly and look at the moon!” He pointed high up in the sky beyond one of the towering windows in the hall. “It’s an eclipse.”

 

Arya held on tightly to her husband’s had as people rushed to the windows to see what Davos was pointing at. Sure enough, a shadow had begun to fall across the moon, slowly darkening the distant orb. “It’s good luck, you know,” the old seafarer was saying as she tugged Gendry towards one of the side doors that lead away from the great hall. “They say an eclipse is a symbol of triumph over darkness and hardship. Fitting, I’d say, considering everything we’ve all been through over the last few years...”

 

Arya couldn’t hear the rest of what he was saying, but assumed it had something to do with the phenomenon being a sign that their marriage would be strong and full of love. Arya already knew that was true, though she didn’t need a shadow on the moon to tell her. Gendry was her home, her safe place, her family, and her lover. Even the risen dead hadn’t been able to seperate them.

 

“Lock the door,” she laughed as they tumbled into her chambers. In truth they had both enjoyed a fair bit of wine and it was making both of them less graceful than usual. Gendry did as he was told, latching the door behind them before joining her in front of the window.

 

They watched as the last sliver of light vanished, then slowly re-emerged on the opposite edge of the moon. “Do you think they know we’re gone yet?” He asked, wrapping his arms around her waist and propping his chin on her shoulder.

 

She turned around in his arms, grateful that someone (probably Sansa) had thought to keep the fireplace in her chambers lit. The flames cast a warm light over half of his face, throwing shadows across the other side. “I don’t really care,” she said, tracing his jaw with her fingertips. “And I’ll kill anyone who tries to come bother us before midday tomorrow.”

 

Gendry chuckled at that. “I have a confession to make, wife.”

 

Arya quirked an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

 

He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, then trailed his mouth along the curve of her neck, mumbling against her skin. “I’m desperate to get you out of this gown, but I don’t have a bloody clue how to do it.”

 

Now it was Arya’s turn to laugh. She reached up and unclasped her cloak, draping it over a nearby armchair and revealing the laces of the gown to him. “It’s tied at the bottom,” she offered helpfully. It took nearly a minute of fumbling before his frustration got the better of him.

 

“How in the hells did Sansa get you into this thing? I have half a mind to cut it off of you,” he growled, still fighting with the lacings that were tied and tucked at the base of her spine.

 

Wordlessly, Arya hiked her skirt up, reaching down to retrieve her dagger from her boot and offering it to him. “Just the lacings, not the fabric,” she warned.

 

He leaned forward and gave her a searing kiss before taking the hilt of the weapon in his hand. She had been ready for the dress to loosen or even slip to the ground completely, she hadn’t been ready for the shiver that went up her spine when he sliced clean through the lacings, dragging the Valeryian steel through every little criss-cross the length of fabric had created.

 

She hadn’t expected it to send a jolt of heat straight to her core, but it did.

 

The dress slipped from her shoulders, over her waist and hips until it pooled at her feet on the floor, leaving her in her shift and her boots. Gendry didn’t waste any time pulling her to him, flicking her hair aside so he could kiss her neck. Even through their remaining clothes she could feel his hardness pressed against her back, begging for attention.

 

The first time they had done this, she had lain next to him in the dark afterwards wondering how anyone ever brought themselves to do anything else. But of course they had thought death would come for them before sunrise, so she had pushed the thought away, got up, and armed herself for the battle ahead, body still humming. And by some miracle they had both survived, seeking each other out in the aftermath and pulling each other’s clothes off with a new kind of desperation.

 

And now, even though they had all the time in the world and a year’s worth of experience behind them, they couldn’t quite seem to get each other naked fast enough.

 

Gendry was tugging at her shift, forcing Arya to step away so he could pull it over her head. When her skin was exposed to the cool air of the room she barely hesitated, turning around to tug at Gendry’s clothes in return. He’d had a head start though and soon she stood completely naked and barefoot before him, goosebumps raising on her skin in the wake of his fingertips as she tugged uselessly at the laces of his trousers.

 

“I win,” he chuckled, chasing her backward until the backs of her calves hit the bed frame. Gendry laced his fingers through her hair, still so captivated by the length of it, and kissed her deeply until she was sitting on the the edge of the bed. “Lay back.”

 

Arya did as he bid, letting him press her into the soft bed with his body as his lips traveled down her throat and over her sternum, pausing briefly to tease the pink nipple of one breast, then the other with his tongue. Arya tossed her head back at the sensation, burying her fingers in his thick hair to keep him right there, but Gendry had other ideas. Slowly, _so_ damn slowly, he continued his path down her body until the tip of his nose brushed against the little thatch of curls between her thighs.

 

He gave her an exploratory pass of his tongue, humming in approval when he found her already wet and wanting. Gendry tossed her legs over his shoulders now, repeated the motion of his tongue with more confidence this time, and Arya’s eyes fluttered closed as her grip on his hair tightened. His first attempts at this had been clumsy if not satisfactory, but practice had done him well. Now he knew just how to make her squirm, drinking from her cunt as if it were a finer wine that the one they had been enjoying in the great hall.

 

Just when Arya thought she could take no more, he slipped a single finger between her folds, seeking out that perfect little spot deep inside her that made her absolutely shatter. Between the sweet torture of his tongue and his skilled hand, it wasn’t long before her labored breathing stuttered. She quaked around his finger, crying out what might have passed for his name in some tongue she didn’t know and undoubtedly soaking him with her essence. Gendry didn’t seem at all interested in stopping though. He kept lapping at her until her grip on his hair had relaxed and her breathing evened out slightly.

 

“Gods, I could do that all night,” he grinned, lifting his head to look her in the eye. He was licking his lips, the smug bastard. When Arya said nothing he withdrew his finger, bringing it to his mouth and sucking it clean. “Perfect.”

 

“Take your bloody pants off, she growled, impatient to have him inside her.

 

“As m’lady commands.” He made quick work of lacings at his hip, loosening the garment just enough for Arya to greedily tug the waistband down his thighs, capturing his cock in her hand as soon as it was free and using her thumb to spread the little droplet of arousal at the tip over he silken skin around it. “Gods, you’ll be the death of me,” He panted, stepping out of the trousers and crawling onto the bed with her.

 

“Would it be such a terrible way to go?”

 

He thrust up into her hand and leaned down to kiss her, supporting his weight on his forearms as he hovered above her. “I would gladly live and die fucking you, dear wife.”

 

Arya gave him a wolfish grin, turning over and pretending she was going to crawl across the bed to make more room. “Well, I don’t see anyone here to stop you from doing just that.”

 

Just as she had planned, Gendry’s hands were on her hips before she could shuffle out of arm’s reach, dragging her back to him. There was just enough room for him to kneel behind her on the bed, holding her upright against him with one arm and teasing one nipple with his free hand. “Where would you like me to start, my love?”

 

Arya rolled her hips so she was grinding against him, teasing his erection. “Right here.”

 

She felt his hand slide off of her breast, then he was sliding his cock against her entrance, teasing her in return. Arya reached back, petting his hair as he began kissing her neck again. _Finally_ he gave a small thrust and entered her, groaning against her pulse point at the perfect friction. Arya rocked against him instinctively, trying to set the pace.

 

Gendry let her take the lead for a while, following her speed and reaching around to rub lazy circles against her clit until she was balancing delicately along the border between frustration and bliss.

 

“I need...more,” she ground out between thrusts. “Harder, please…”

 

Gendry nipped her shoulder. “As you wish.”

 

She let him guide her onto her hands and knees, but Arya remembered a tidbit she had picked up in Braavos and figured there was no time like the present to test it out. She let her hands slip along the furs laid out on the bed until her chest rested on the mattress, grinning in self-satisfaction when Gendry swore under his breath. He withdrew nearly all the way before slamming back into her and Arya immediately decide that her little experiment had been successful.

 

She could feel every delicious inch of him like this and it was driving her mad. Gendry kept true to his word, setting a punishing pace that made her breathless and redoubling the efforts of the hand between her thighs until she was burying her face in the mattress to muffle her cries of pleasure. All at once she fell over the edge, letting her body spiral beyond her control in the name of sheer pleasure.

 

She came back to herself just in time to feel Gendry’s rhythm falter, then stop completely as his seed pulsed inside her. He traced gentle nonsense onto the skin of her back until he began to soften inside of her and finally withdrew. Immediately, he rolled onto his back, drawing her to his warm chest and kissing her deeply. For a moment they simply breathed, resting their foreheads against one another as they floated down from the high.

 

“Husband?”

 

“Yes, wife?”  


“We’re going to do that again, aren’t we?”

 

“We’re going to do a lot of things,” he assured her with a kiss to the forehead. “As often as you like.”

 

Arya decided she quite liked being married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, be honest. How was it? I feel like I'm getting better at writing smut but I really have no idea.


	17. Mama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous on tumblr asked for the first time Joss calls Arya her Mama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set about a year after “Spring.” Jocelyn is about 3 years old. Just a bit of fluff for y’all before I dive back into my Person of Intetest WIP for a while.

Arya woke with a start despite the peaceful quiet of the night. Something wasn't right and she knew it. The room was dark, forcing her eyes to strain as she looked around. She could hear the waves crashing outside and Gendry’s steady breathing from beside her. She focused on the sounds around her and recognized the soft patter of little feet crossing their room.

 

It was not uncommon for the children to sneak into their chambers one by one during a particularly violent storm. Even Cass, who considered herself too old for such comforts at the ripe old age of nine, slipped in under the guise of delivering a teary Orryn or Ned and ended up falling asleep between her parents in the massive canopy bed. But there was no storm this night, only a soft breeze off the bay.

 

_So why do we have a little visitor?_

 

The footsteps stopped at the edge of the bed and Arya was just able to make out the bronze curls that framed Jocelyn’s face in the light of the moon. She reached a little hand out and tugged on Arya’s sleeve, not realizing yet that she was already awake. The shirt was one of Gendry’s old tunics and slipped off her shoulder as Joss tried to get her attention.

 

“What’s wrong little mouse?” Joss had earned the affectionate nickname not long after she arrived at Storm’s end. A shy girl at her core, Joss was quiet and skittish around new people.

 

“Had a bad dream,” she whispered. “Can I sleep with you, Mama?”

 

It had been a year since Arya had brought Jocelyn and her brother back to Storm’s End and in all that time she’d never called Arya her mama. Sometimes Arya wondered if Joss remembered her mother or if she was just a flash of a memory to her, the way Gendry described his mum. In truth, She had always thought she didn’t care what Jocelyn called her. She was a part of Arya’s pack now and always would be.

 

Arya found her heart warm at the sound of it though, and realized she’d been wrong. “Of course. Mama and Papa won’t let anything bad happen to you, little mouse.”

 

She pulled back the covers and picked Jocelyn up, laying her on the featherbed between her and Gendry before pulling the linens back over them. Gendry stirred as Joss settled in between them and turned his head to face their little visitor.

 

“Hello little mouse,” he mumbled, eyes only half open. “Did you have a nightmare?”

 

She nodded. “Mama said I sleep here.”

 

“Well, if Mama said so…” He rolled onto his side, tossing one of his long arms over both of them and tugging Arya closer. “No bad dreams in this bed, I promise.”

 

Joss snuggled in under the sheets, apparently pleased to be squished between them. “Goodnight Mama.”

 

Arya brushed a stray curl from her little face. “Goodnight, little mouse.”

 

“Goodnight Papa.”

 

Gendry gave Joss a kiss on the cheek and soon she was drifting back to sleep, safe and sound between the two of them, breaths passing between her little lips as Arya watched her sleep. She glanced up and saw that Gendry was doing the same, though the light of the moon made his eyes shine in an unusual way.

 

“Are you crying?”

 

“No,” he sniffled.

 

It was the same thing he’d done when Cassie was first placed in his arms, and Serena, and Rhaelle, and Ned. He had cried every time she’d given him a child, and now he was crying because this child had given herself. Here in the dead of night, he had become someone’s father once again.

 

Carefully, Arya took his hand from where it rested on her waist and brought it to her lips. “I love you.”

 

“I love you more.”

 

Arya grinned, shutting her eyes and trying to sleep. It wouldn’t be long until the sun started peeking into the room or one of the other children came to wake them. She wanted to bask in this moment until she drifted off.


End file.
